Anxiety is my best friend, and I hate her.
“The time when there is nothing at all in your soul except a cry for help may be just that time when God can’t give it: you are like the drowning man who can’t be helped because he clutches and grabs. Perhaps your own reiterated cries deafen you to the voice you hoped to hear.”
― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
Anxiety has been with me ever since I can remember.
Always lurking around the corner, waiting for the prime time to strike. She manifests herself in many ways. Sometimes she comes as fear, sometimes as anger, sometimes even as despair.
But she always comes.
And try as I might I cannot avoid her.
She is the best friend that I never wanted. The best friend I can’t get rid of no matter how I try. The friend that follows me around like a cute little puppy, that might bite my face off at any time.
And I hate her.
But no matter how much I hate her, she is a comfortable place for me. I know what she feels like, what she looks like. I know what to expect from her.
I know who she is.
We have walked hand in hand for a long time, most of my life in fact. Sometimes she gets quiet, so quiet that I begin to think that maybe she has gone. Maybe, just maybe she has left me. Then she comes roaring back into my life sounding the alarm and making me feel like someone is choking me.
Sometimes it feels impossible to shake her.
Because try as I might she is always there. Right in the back of my mind. She influences everything in my life. Every decision. Every move I make. Everything.
I am right in the middle of working on letting Anxiety go.
It is the hardest thing I have ever done.
I catch myself thinking about her a lot, and I am learning it is ok to do so. She cannot hurt me unless I allow her to. She lies a lot to me, making me feel helpless, hopeless, unloveable, unworthy. But I don’t have to listen to her. I don’t have to let her rule my life.
It is hard.
And it is a constant battle.