Dear Anxiety,
I often times wonder what I did to deserve you. Was it something I said? Was I unforgiving or harsh? I can not remember a day without you, I recall pacing the floor as a little girl nervous that my decisions would harm others. “Calm down!” My parents would tell me. At eight I began asking myself tedious questions because I felt like I had to, “did I turn off my light?" "did I tell my sister I loved her?" Whether it be about myself or others, you made me constantly worry.
You made high school a living nightmare, you made me a joke. When my attacks began getting more serious and I could barely function without panicking, I worried that I was broken. You made me crazy, I remember the fear as my teacher told my parents I was having anxiety attacks at school. You led me to a doctor's office where I sat on a black bed with crinkly white paper. I was scared: no, I was terrified. I remember the gentle words of my doctor and the reassurance that mental illness' were not something to be ashamed of, but how was I to believe him? It's terrifying to be diagnosed with a mental illness, especially when you constantly tell me I deserve it.
As I have grown up, you’ve only made my nervous tendencies worse. Because of you, I have to double check (who am I kidding; triple check) locks, stoves, and windows. I get anxious when I mess up or forget to shut my computer off. Sometimes, you make me think that my minor screw ups or flaws will horrifically hurt someone. The sad part is, a part of my brain knows that isn’t true. This one rational piece of me tries to fight you, but you somehow prevail every single time.
I hate you, and because of this, I hate a part of myself. I hate that I cannot answer roll call without tensing up. I hate that I live in a constant state of fear always wondering when you’ll show your ugly head. I hate that I am constantly asleep because it’s easier to face you when I am unconscious. You make my life miserable, sometimes even unbearable. Because of you I know my inner demons too well. You’ve made me feel worthless, ugly, and unwanted. Anxiety, at times I feel like you’ve broken me.
Although you rule my life, I am learning to fight you. I am no longer the little girl who cries in the shower when no one can see her, I no longer hide in bathrooms. I talk to others, even though at times my heart isn't into it. Anxiety, you’ve infested my brain with toxic thoughts, but you have not yet defeated me.
While I hate you with my entire being, you have taught me one thing; I am strong.
Sincerely,
A girl trying her hardest
