The problem isn't that there is a disease living inside me, it's that I am the disease. There is not some foreign object controlling me, I am controlling myself. I make myself believe that it can't be controlled because I am not controlling it, but I am. Anxiety isn't a contagious disease that gets passed between people, it is that you are drowning in a sea of your own thoughts. It is not something controlling you, you are controlling yourself and you're fighting to regain the strength and the power, the ground beneath your feet. But you're failing. Not only are you failing yourself but you're failing your friends and your family until they disappear. They see you struggling, fighting for breath as you drown in your thoughts and they reach out, trying to grasp your hand. You don't realize it but you pull back your hand, you pull back your heart and you pull back your mind until you are the one that dissolves into nothingness and just floats away. In your mind you may think that they are the ones that give up on you, the ones that don't care about you but in reality you leave them to go fight your own battles. The battles that in the end, you surrender to and the monster that you are consumes you.
Do you ever wish someone would notice you. Notice the scars on your wrist, the red rimmed eyes, the half moons on your palms, because that's who you are now, and that's all they see. No matter how much you cut or choke or fall it will never end. You will never surrender yourself to it because you are a coward and will never actually pull the trigger. Because then what? There would be nothing left. Everything would come to a halt and there would be no way for you to stop it. Once you jump off, or pull the trigger or cut vertically there is no going back. Once you actually do it you will yearn for the life you once had, you will think the arms of anxiety were warm and you crave for them to hug you.
When you cut horizontally or only drink a little bit of the smelly liquid you are just hurting yourself enough for the fantasy to become real. It is just child's play compared to the concrete flesh that has seen so much worse. It is like you are preparing yourself to the real thing although you are still a virgin to the real hardships. You are just dreaming of the things you will eventually do and right now it is just a figment of your imagination. Until you imagination tells you the truth and everything becomes a reality. Until you actually do it and everything runs out of control. Until you can't save yourself, and you can't go back, and you wished you had left a note or said goodbye. You wished you had called that number or at least taken your head out of the stormy clouds and made a connection. Someone who could save you from yourself. The only person you could talk to was yourself and now it's killing you because that's what happens in the end. You die alone. All alone.
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The Untitled Story of an Anxiety Disorder
RandomI'm the girl who is always there for people when they need a friend but I am also the girl who faces many issues alone, but would still do anything to see someone else smile. This is the diary of someone living with anxiety. Some people might think...
