To my anxiety,

People say that if you have anxiety, you can’t talk in front of a crowd, you have suicidal thoughts, and you basically can’t live your life like a “normal” person can. Yeah. Well, I'm rather fond of public speaking, I’m not suicidal, and I lead a pretty simple, basic, average middle-school life, you know? According to the widely accepted definition of anxiety, I don’t have it.

And yet I still feel that on some days, I’m just drowning in papers, commands, and thoughts. I want to go invisible everytime the guy on the other side of the classroom simply looks at me. I want to go invisible everytime anyone looks at me, it’s just so unnerving to know someone’s watching me. It takes me fifteen minutes to build up the courage to ask to go to the bathroom in math class. It takes me longer to fall asleep at night as I think about everything I couldn’t do. My entire body starts shaking for no apparent reason at random times. My mouth fails me when someone asks me “what’s up?” My conversations with people are often awkward endeavors I want to end as soon as possible. Some days, I just feel like I’m the happiest girl in the world for reasons I just can’t explain. And on others, I feel like my life is the worst and I can’t do anything right.

Yes, I’m here, alive and reasonably well. But I just can’t take a single full breath.

I guess that’s anxiety.

Everyone around me says it’s normal to be anxious sometimes. It’s part of growing up, they say. Fighting all of your demons is how you grow as a person, maturing to become the person you were always meant to be, they say. My thought is always, “this is normal? When my mind tries tearing itself apart, that’s normal? When I break out crying while I’m talking to my best friends on the weekends, that’s normal too? When no one else around me seems to know what I’m talking about even when it makes perfect sense to me, that’s normal? You have to be kidding me.”

They’re never kidding me, apparently.

I don’t like to think I have a serious mental problem. After all, do you think someone like me would be diagnosed with something with a terrible, unpronounceable name and be moved to an asylum and cut off my ear or something? But at the same time, sometimes I can’t push away the thought that I’m just really, really weird. The kind of weird that has people looking at you like you’re an alien. After all, none of my friends ever talk about this kind of stuff, and when I bring it up, they awkwardly let the conversation drift into silence. My parents always tell me to be more social, like the rest of my very social family, even when talking to someone is the last thing I want to do. I hear the word “anxiety” tied in with words like “failure” and “drugs” and “suicide” but I don’t want any part in that. I just want to live my life with no regrets.

So, anxiety, please go away. Why do you always have to float around behind me like a ghost of my past, reminding me of how easy it is to fail? Why do you always ruin the greatest times of my life with a single, negative thought? Why do you always make me seem stupid when I’m not stupid? Why do you always drive me to a point where I am barely breathing? Why can’t I control you the way you control me? Just go away!

You won’t go away, will you?

I guess I’ll try the next best thing, then. Wipe the sweat off my palms, start my favorite playlist, and wait for the next full breath to come.

Sincerely,

J. S.