Don’t Date Me Because You Think That My Anxiety Is ‘Cute’

Unsplash / Roksolana Zasiadko

My anxiety is not romantic. My anxiety is not a fetish you can bring into the bedroom.

Someone told you that girls with anxiety are great lovers. You believe, because of my constant need of validation, that everything will be okay, that I will pour my energy into our relationship.

You are sadly mistaken, because I have no energy left to give.

It is not cute when I wake up in the morning. My alarm goes off and I hit snooze. What I do is this — I lay there on the bed feeling this heavy weight on my body.

I try to figure out the reason why I’m upset and come up with a dozen reasons why I should just get up. But instead, I lay there for an extra ten minutes, because I am exhausted.

There are days when I jolt up and my heart is racing. When I have been thinking about the same problems from the night before and I hate myself for not finding a solution. And even if I did, I would probably wake up thinking my solution would just add to the problem.

There are days I wake up crying because I have no idea what to do. There are days I wake up at three in the morning, thinking about the context of a day old conversation.

Or I worry about how I may not have enough money in my account. My head conjures up worst case scenarios. I start to sweat, my stomach churns, and my heart tries to beat out of my chest.

There are nights when I feel like I’m living through the Tale Tell Heart, because I hear a heartbeat in the room, deafening me.

If I try to fall asleep, all I do is fidget, toss, and turn. I think about every problem in my life, from point A to point Z.

Will you still find my anxiety cute when I get an anxiety attack? When it feels like I’m choking on air, my heart is trying to beat out of my chest, and everything is hazy?

Will you still find it cute when I walk through a crowd, trying to steady my breathing? Or will you feel like you are saving me?

It would be nice to have a shoulder to lean on. Someone to talk to about my frequent bursts of irrationality rather than hide it and pretend I am okay.

Darling, I need a friend, not a knight or a soldier. Better yet, tell me that I should seek help. I do not want you to say that you want to fix me, because I am not broken. I am sick, not a jigsaw puzzle.

So please, my anxiety is not a character trait. It is an illness. I need a doctor, not a lover. I am not broken. TC mark

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