A Loveless Letter to My Anxiety

Dear Anxiety,

You are not welcome here. Sadly, unlike a vampire, you can come in whether I invite you in or not.

I’ve always been an anxious person. I get stressed easily and intensely. Overthinking is a hobby and expecting too much of myself is my favorite pastime. With a history of anxiety in my family, and my own personality type, I should have been expecting this.

Anxiety hit me like the T. Rex hit the cool car thing in Jurassic world: crushing me and making small children scream.

This past year anxiety has become a part of my everyday life. I never understood people who would get debilitating anxiety in classes and such and became unable to function, but now I do. Now, I can find myself in the most mundane of situations and suddenly be overwhelmed with crushing anxiety.  I can’t breathe, I can’t think correctly, and suddenly every fear I have no matter how ridiculous seems bigger, badder, and a hell of a lot meaner than ever before.

I shut down. To the people who have had to deal with me at these times; thank you, and I’m sorry. See, I don’t like who I become when it hits. It’s not me. It’s like something evil takes over me when an attack happens. I am not nice, I am not fun, and I’m sure don’t look even slightly pretty.

My anxiety is something I’ve tried to keep mostly to myself, only talking openly about it with close friends and family. It’s something you wouldn’t notice unless you were around all the time or caught me when I had an anxiety attack. I like to think I hide it well. Recently however, I realized it was a bigger problems than I thought, when as friend asked me if “Happy Cayla” was coming home soon. It kinda broke my heart, and made me realize that to face this better I have to be open about it.

Everyday I work on dealing with what now affects me daily.  I’ve been given lots of helpful suggestions, some work, some don’t, but at least I’m trying.  I will not take this lying down, and become someone else because of my disorder.

If anxiety were a boyfriend, he would be that asshole who tells you that you would look better if you wore makeup, says he should be your only friend, and makes you feel bad about achieving anything. Sadly, it’s not as easy to dump anxiety as he would be.

Anxiety lingers morning, evening, and night. It hides itself in the stuffed animal by my bed, and in every text not returned. It tells me that no one cares, that I can’t do it, you’re doing it wrong, and you don’t matter. It makes me feel weak, lonely, and a little bit insane at times.  It makes even the smallest decision impossible, and one shitty argument turns into hyperventilating and sobbing. It’s like a car crash, you can never really be prepared for it, and it happens with no warning.  Anxiety attacks feel like being in a plane that makes an emergency landing on water but forgot to provide flotation devices.

Anxiety can go fuck off ( yes Dad, I said fuck, sorry). Go to hell and hit up Hitler, and make him feel worthless, not me. You are not welcome in my body, mind, or spirit. I will not let you win.

I am not what my anxiety tells me I am. I’m strong, confident, and sometimes people laugh at my jokes (score!!!).  My fight with you is still going on and I know that. But you do not own me, and I’m going to work everyday to make sure that’s true.