I Fucking Hate My Anxiety

I hate the way my anxiety makes me feel. Like I am awkward. Like I am an outsider. Like I don’t fit in anywhere.

I hate that I turn my phone to silent when I hear it ringing instead of picking it up. I hate when I listen to the voicemail, realize that I have to call the person back, and wish that I would have just answered it in the first place so that I didn’t have to go through the trouble of dialing back and listening to the ringing and praying that the call will end quickly.

I hate when I hear about a party or a wedding or a group get together and dread going when I should be excited. I hate how I always end up sitting in the corner of the room, petting a dog or stuffing chips into my mouth, when I should be mingling with other people. I hate that I have zero social skills, even though the thing I want most in the world is for people to like me.

I hate how I can’t send a text or an email without checking it over three times to make sure there aren’t any spelling errors. I hate how, after I press the send button, I keep refreshing the page to see if the person responded to me yet. I hate how much I worry about what they are going to think as they read my words and what they are going to type back to me.

I hate how I always hide in corners when I hear knocking at the door because I don’t even think about answering it. I hate how I hide in my bedroom whenever my family has unexpected company. I hate how I hide in bathrooms when I can’t handle social interaction anymore and need a quick escape.

I hate that I struggle to leave the house. I hate that I sit inside of my car for longer than I should, trying to psych myself up to be around people. I hate that the most normal things in the world — like buying groceries and getting a haircut — bring me stress.

I hate how the smallest change in my schedule can cause me to melt down. I hate how I can’t hang out with friends unless they make plans with me days in advance. I hate how much unpredictability unsettles me.

I hate how nervous I get eating in front of other people. How uncomfortable I am speaking in front of other people. How awkward I feel when I smile at someone or wave at someone or walk over to someone.

I hate how my anxiety will hit me out of nowhere. When I’m sitting at home doing nothing. When I shouldn’t be worried about a single thing. I hate that I am never calm. Never at peace. Never comfortable in my own skin.

I fucking hate my anxiety, because it makes every single day more stressful than it should be.