Anxiety and I, we go way back.
Back to the time when I first felt the rotation of the earth,
10 times faster.
You could call it love at first breakdown.
We’ve been in a live-in relationship since then,
Only I don’t want to be in it.
We’re not by ourselves either.
For he goes hand in hand with his cousins, Depression and OCD.
Together they have built a circus of acrobatic fear and panic,
And my head is the venue.
If I could try and sum up our romance,
It would be wobbly knees and shaky hands and asthmatic fits,
Because butterflies in the stomach are too mainstream.
In college, he was the voice that only I could hear.
The voice that kept rehearsing “yes ma’am”
Over and over at roll call while the girls sat chattering
about everything from aloo paratha to hot guys.
The voice that asked “What if it’s wrong?”
To all the answers I had memorised a hundred times before.
He was the one who taught me the ways of
avoiding eye contact from every possible angle.
He was the chain that kept my hands locked between my thighs,
And my head lower than the others.
He was the lump in my stomach that jumped to my throat
At the mere mention of the term “presentation”.
He was the flight that I always chose over fight.
Now everyday he wraps me up in his safe cocoon of Insecurity,
Constantly reminding me of the world of danger
waiting outside my door.
Like the sky could collapse or I’d get hit by a pigeon and die.
Or even worse, I could meet someone I know!
I’d have to say hello.
And I’m forbidden from doing so,
From talking to people.
Or he grabs me by my nerves and threatens to throw a tantrum.
I’m terrified of his tantrums.
So I turn lonely into busy, busy into exhausted, exhausted into sleeping.
He tells me the ceiling is a good friend but really it’s not.
But he can be romantic too.
Most nights we’re all about cuddles and tears,
under a warm blanket of insomnia,
Talking about my dreams and how I can’t achieve them.
And some nights we spend rummaging through my pile of past events,
The whys and what ifs and should haves,
Only to fold them back in my drawers,
In chronological order.
And I call these the good days.
On bad days he tries to kill me.
But fights are inevitable in every relationship.
It’s not so bad, really.
It just feels like a million cells somersaulting inside my body,
Dying to burst out of my skin.
It just feels like a nuclear explosion in my head
With a thousand church bells ringing in my ears.
On such days, 30 seconds feels like an eternity underwater
Where my lungs close up and the air in it feels like sulfur.
On such days, he drags me to the feet of my meanest nightmares.
On such days, he makes me see everyone I love in coffins.
On such days, he makes me relive the goodbye
Said 6 years and 9 months and 5 days ago at 13:15.
On such days, he does not listen to anyone or anything!
With Anxiety, it is not living.
It’s just waiting.
Waiting for the moment to pass,
Hoping the next would be a better one.
With him, it is not living.
It’s just surviving.
Surviving every second suspended in time,
While the whole world passes me by.