I remember when I first met you.
I was roughly ten years old when I first met you. It was accidental, I didn’t want to meet you, but it happened. I’m not sure whether my parents’ fighting or my mother yelling at me over my grades – both which would lead me to running to my room and cry.
I’m twenty-one now. You’ve only become more prevalent in my life. I remember the times when you would encourage me to cry every night before I had tests in high school because you convinced that I was going to fail. You made me bomb my SATs the first time I took it because I couldn’t sleep, remember that? Even now, you convince me that if someone doesn’t message me back, it means that they hate me. You’ve driven people away. Or, at least, you’ve convinced me of this.
I’ve tried to get rid of you before, but you keep coming back. I’ve pursued therapy. I’ve tried deep breathing constantly throughout the day. I’ve told myself that I deserve better than you. And yet you’ve come back in my life and have and at times made me want to end my life. You’ve made me think and say things that I’m not proud of. When will you get the memo that you’re not welcome?
I am making steps to try and surround myself with other things than you. I have tried to tell myself that I am worth it. I am worth being happy and not feel crippled by you. I deserve better. I am trying to be on social media less – you manage to come into my life more often when I’m on there.
Hey anxiety, it’s time you go. You’ve made my life hell, and I’m done with you.