Anxiety

 Dear Frank,

This is how I live with this anxiety…

It loves me so much, it doesn’t let me entertain you.

It makes me think of numerous things you aren’t doing wrong, so I’ll sulk more and be with it

Makes me scream at the pillow, tap my leg and avoid eye contact 

Makes me send long paragraphs, short ones, and nothing at all 

It allows me to have conversations with myself over and over again, so when I’m communicating with you, you never understand what I’m saying,

It makes my hand sweat, my head hurt and my throat dry

Last week, I heard the whisper so loud when it said “ I should release my hands from the wheel” 

It tells me things like “ you aren’t good enough” 

Makes me cry, a little harder till my chest burn and I spend hours trying to figure out who I am 

Makes me leave messages unread, and drives close friends away 

Loves to see me lose, maybe a little harder 

Takes this confidence, and makes me say “yes” even though I badly want to say “No” 

It makes me pace around the house uncertain of what I want 

Keeps all the tabs open in my head and forget to lock

I lock the door twice, but I still rush back to check if it’s locked, if the gas is still on, and if the tap is on…

Makes me start, forget, re-start and at the end deliver the worst part of the assignment 

Makes me love you with questions, dreadful thoughts, and fear 

Yesterday It made me think that the gateman was a hired Assassin hired to end my life, and my neighbors know but are all in the script 

Makes me in a hurry to see you, cause I don’t know how long I’ll be here 

It gives me shivers contemplating if you love me or you are pitying the crumps I have become of myself 

This anxiety is jealous of you, hates that I love you, and that is why it wants to go through your phone, start an argument, and imagine the worst of every conversation you have with your friends on the phone. 

It hates that I want to hold you, that is why, I’m asking questions about why your heart is beating that way, cause it has told me that you are cheating and your heart is only racing because you are guilty and sorry that I’m foolishly in love with you. 

This anxiety loves me in wicked ways, cause why did I decide to let you go, instead of fixing what we already have?