Anxiety is sitting forever in a bathroom stall at work because you’re so trapped inside your head that you literally can not come back out.
It’s knowing you cannot get a grip even if you try, but still wading through it like you matter.
Anxiety is driving past your destination because you’re afraid of what will greet you at the door, even when you wanted to be there.
It’s fluffing around the front yard of the party until you’ve really convinced yourself that you’re good enough to be there.
Anxiety is having big plans and even bigger dreams but not being able to ask the first question, without assuming your burden on the world.
It’s being in a box inside a world that is so clearly spherical.
It’s grey hair and scrunched up wrinkles from a lifetime of ruthless worry – with no end in sight.
Anxiety is a loving heart and casting an open net, but a botched up brain that says:
“Close the gates.”
It’s knowing all my flaked-out plans means people might not come back for me, but sweating – hoping that they do.
It’s knowing that I say “I’m sorry” too much and that I ask too many questions.
It’s not being able to stop living my life with paranoia.
Anxiety is “I have tried to change.” This is who I am, and I am asking you:
Please, love me anyway.
August 2019
Wallflower Writing 