Dear Anxiety,

Dear Anxiety,

You have no rhyme or reason.  No pattern.  No niceness that I can control.  You just come and overwhelm me.  You start as a passing thought and end with me trying to pull out every coping skill I’ve got.

It’s not fair.  YOU aren’t fair.  You’ve stolen away so much of my life.  I do not do because of you.  I avoid shopping centers, church, and public gatherings because of you.  Mainly because I know you’ll show up and steal the scene.

People think you’re an excuse.  You aren’t.  You are the reason.  People ask questions like, “Do you think that’s logical?”  That’s the thing. Trauma isn’t logical.  PTSD isn’t logical.  Anxiety isn’t logical.  You just shut me down.

So, here I am…pulling one of my other coping skills out…writing. I’m trying to pass you by.  So far it’s working.  I’ve stopped the crying.  The rapid breathing has subsided.  And here I am, beating you again.  I WILL WIN.  Maybe not every time.  But overall, YOU WILL NOT STEAL MY JOY.  Anxiety you’re an asshole, and I’m taking my toys and going home.  I will not play with you.  I will not engage.


A Strong Woman


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