I’m pretty sure you grew up with me. You were never a friend, but you certainly weren’t a stranger. I remember when I first started to notice you.
You started to creep up on my innocence at only 7-years-old. As a kid, I was always scared of typical child fears like the dark, spiders, ghosts and monsters under my bed, but you crept up on me much more mysteriously; almost as if there was a shadow looming over my bedside late at night.
For no reason, my heart would start to race out of fear because of you, despite the safety and protection of my parents being in the room next door. Your presence sent my head in a whirl spin, making me worry late at night, over silly, non-important things. Those “typical fears” like spiders or monsters became minuscule compared to how you made me feel. Why? Because monsters weren’t real.
As a child, you were something real. You, only a shadow hanging over me, were real. A fear I couldn’t get rid of no matter how hard I tried. You were someone that physically made me feel like I was in danger.
Once I grew older and more acclimated to your presence, you were no longer a fear, but rather an acquaintance. An acquaintance I kept close to only myself, and wouldn’t dare mention to any of my friends.
On good days, I remember when you gave me motivation. Before a big test or an essay, your reminding would force me to work harder and be the best I could possibly be. But after a while, you only began to intimidate me. As my work would begin to pile up, I would sit and watch you, looking straight back at me with a look of intimidation and failure. Your looks of disappointment discouraged me completely, both socially and academically.
As you stuck with me through high school and college, we grew close. On nights where I was alone with no company, you would always make sure to be there, watching me. If I didn’t want to do much, you would judge me. It was great how you always made sure I was busy because if I wasn’t, you made me feel I was doing something wrong. You made me feel like I was missing out, or I was acting like a failure.
Your familiar face wasn’t comforting but wasn’t strange either. At that point, I was numb to our friendship, even when you made me hurt. But your intimidation only grew on me. As I slacked off on things, your stares of disgust only grew worse. As my work began to become an overload, I could hardly get myself to complete it. While being in a major I nearly hated, you forced me to stick with it. You made me determined to keep going, in order to hide what was really going on.
As a sleep-deprived freshman who hardly knew the ropes of college life, you discouraged me from accepting myself and accepting what I wanted out of my education. If I accepted that my major wasn’t right for me, I would know what you would label me as. You spat out words like “failure”, “slacker”, “stupid”, “quitter”: words that I never saw myself as, until you began to mention it. You held me back from becoming the person I dreamt I could be. You made me feel like everything was impossible.
Because of you, I could never sleep. You gave me too much to think about: What was my next step? What will people think? What do people think of me now? Who am I? My heart would race, just like when I was young. My breathing would feel foreign. Every inhale and exhale would feel unnatural, like I was forcing my heart to continue to beat. As tears of sweat would form, as my fingers would begin to twitch, as my heart rate ran out of control, only then would you creep out of my closet. You would stare down at me. You wouldn’t help. Instead, you would make me feel tiny, irrelevant, pointless, and pathetic.
Eventually, you crept inside of me. You would make my body do weird things, like form bumps all over my body. These tiny, red bumps formed all over my legs. You made me feel ugly.
You would make me hurt too. You would make my stomach hurt to no end. In agonizing pain, you would refuse to leave my soul. No matter how hard I wanted to let go, you would only make the pain worse.
On the days when I found motivation, you would hold me back from wanting to run forward. On the days where I was happy, you would remind me of all my worries, and make me feel undeserved of any optimism.
Although I know you’ll probably never leave my side, I’ve begun to accept you. Now that I’ve accepted the bumps all over my body and how vulnerable I can feel under your watch, my days have gotten progressively better. When I’d like to wear what I want, you only make me want to cover myself up. When I’d like to be proactive and successful in my academics, you remind me of my failure in my freshman year.
On the days you make me feel ugly and vulnerable, I feel more and more encouraged to show myself off. On the days I’d much rather stay in bed, I find more and more motivation to let my feet hit the floor. Although there are still several days you refuse to leave my side, I’ve begun to accept you, with open arms. Once I realized you were staring back at me in my own mirror, my acceptance with my anxiety has become a long journey to recovery.
Anxiety, you will always be a part of me. However, I am beginning to accept you. One day at a time, I will soon welcome you with open arms, rather than looks of fear despite you having held me back all my life from becoming the person I’ve always dreamt I could be…
Once I accepted your presence, I have started to accepted myself.
Sincerely,
Lily
