anxiety

Dear Anxiety, Quite frankly, I did not recognise you at first. I thought of you as a friend who was guiding me to the path of self-love, but instead, it was self-loathe. But we all have that one toxic friend we need to give up, and you, Anxiety, have earned yourself that tag. You made me your puppet. You strung me along for a very long time, making me believe that you’re the angel, when you were the demon all along. You invaded my conscience as if my mind is your playground. After all of this, I’m afraid of you. I’m anxious about the smallest things. I’m anxious about being anxious. Whenever I walked into a room full of people, you were there, standing right next to me, whispering into my ear, telling me that I should just go back out. It was you, who made my hands shake whenever someone acknowledged me publicly, converting positive feedback into negative ones. It was you who made me think that no one thought well of me, that everyone judged me no matter what I did. It