A (Not So) Love Letter To My Anxiety

Would saying you’re mine be a lie? Because I’ve always felt I belonged to you. So, let’s be honest for a change.

You took a hold of me early in life. When my parents divorced, you turned an outgoing kid into a shell. The most confident person into the most insecure. There once was a girl who shined so bright, but you made her world dim, and she grew into a shadow of herself.

As time went on, I learned to put up a shield so nothing could hurt me. And later on into adulthood, I noticed you didn’t come around as much. I thought maybe I had done something right. Maybe you had finally given me the reins to run my own life, but I was wrong. Suddenly, I started seeing you everywhere: At home, at work, in my relationships. I always knew you were needy, but you took it to a whole new level.

I think at some point, I conditioned myself to think that I needed you, too. That codependency got us tangled up in this mess. I pushed, you pulled. When I took two steps forward, you took me 10 steps back, always playing catch-up in a world that wouldn’t wait for me.

Do you remember the last time we spoke? You kept me up for five nights straight; awake but not alive. Or that time, not so long ago, when my insomnia lasted for weeks, so we went to the hospital and they left us there to fight it out? Of course, you won. You always do. Then we went home and pretended like nothing happened.

I’ve tried everything: The meditation apps. A strict bedtime routine. I cut out caffeine (yeah, it’s that serious). I take baths. Drowned you out with a glass (or two) of wine. I exercise (when I’m not exhausted). I’ve been through years of therapy and a full list of medications to quell you, but you insist on staying put.

Sometimes I wonder why I was cursed with you. You, whose voodoo magic paralyzes me with fear and lures me into a pit of panic every day, leaving me scratching desperately to get to the surface. You penetrate the life out of me. Break through my skin until it's raw. Feed on my mind like a hungry parasite. My bloodshot eyes have told your story one too many times. I scream, but no one hears me.

I told you I could be flexible. I was willing to have an open relationship with you. I didn’t mind if you started seeing other people. In fact, I encouraged it. But you only wanted me; the one you knew you could control. The one that houses your dangerous thoughts and entertains them like a gracious host.

I invited you in, but you've overstayed your welcome.

If you still don’t get it, let me spell it out for you: I don’t want you anymore. And I won’t let you have me. You’ve been reckless with this body and have already done enough damage. You’ve made your point—so now I’m making mine.

It’s time to get your things and go, anxiety. There's no room left for the baggage you bring. Just leave your key by the door and get the fuck out. It's for the best.

Good riddance,

Your better half

P.S.: Don’t try to conspire with my depression. She pissed me off, so I sent her packing, too.

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