Because of it, I take every little thing too personally.
I’m afraid it sounds extremely irrational, but whenever something out of the ordinary happens, I start making assumptions. Whenever someone takes a lot of time to reply to a simple text of mine, I start to panic.
They don’t want to see me. They don’t want to talk to me. I must annoy them real hard. They do it on purpose. Oh, God, they hate me.
I spend hours of reviewing before sending the actual text. Simply because there’s a little chance of rejection. Knowing that someone saw my request and decided to just ignore it is making me vomit. It’s making me shiver with anxiety.
Deep down it feels like I’m invisible.
If you’ve met a person who stuffers from this terrible condition, all the irrationalities will become much clearer to you. Because there are thoughts and feelings inside an anxious person that cannot be removed just by a simple wave of the hand.
They are holding people hostage and they are merciless.
When I tell you that I get a certain inexplicable rush that is making my stomach hurt and my head explode every time it’s expected of me to be the center of a social situation, I mean it.
You might say that I’m overexaggerating, but you haven’t had a taste of a 24/7 agitation and severe stress, for no exact reason.
Anxiety makes me overanalyze until my head hurts and my eyes can’t focus anymore. It makes me question every goddamn thing. It makes me perceive every excuse as a lie. It’s trying to convince me that I’m not worthy of anything.
And no matter how much I’ve known someone, anxiety keeps making doubt them. I’m slowly turning into an over obsessed person who needs constant reassurance that they’re loved.
Sometimes it feels like the whole world have turned against me. Like there’s not a single bright aspect, an opportunity, a wonder to believe in.
But, still, society requires me to maintain an optimistic point of view. It keeps telling me that what I feel isn’t real. It keeps convincing me that it is all in my head. That I should go out more. And try to have fun.
But where, tell me where is the fun in intentionally trying to have fun, where all you would ever do is lie down, desperately waiting for nightfall?
It’s hard. It’s truly hard to fit in. And it is exceptionally difficult to explain all of it to people who’ve never experienced this. Because to them, all of this sounds like a bunch of crap. Fabricated nonsense.
Yet, it is very real for those of us who’ve felt it. Just like broken leg, just like a fresh, bleeding and aching wound.
Anxiety is making me doubt my self-worth, that ultimately results in doubting everyone around me. I don’t believe when someone is flirting with me, I assume they’re just nice. Even when they seem interested, I never get my hopes high.
I’m afraid that when someone really gets to see the real me, I’ll be rejected and thrown away like an old, worn-out cloth.
Because of this. Anxiety is making me live this life with the lowest possible expectations.
Because who would really want a burden in their life?
Who’d love a prisoner of anxiety’s scariest dungeon?
Because of this condition, I fail to see the beauty inside of me. I struggle to notice all of the valuable parts of me.
Everything I ever saw were imperfections.