At 29, you are officially the most consistent thing in my life.
One might argue that we’re practically married.
Firstly, I want to thank you. Thank you for giving me an intuition I can trust, more so when I was younger.
The parent arguments, the plate smashing and the screams. Who knew that at 11 years old, I’d rely on you to wake me up in the middle of the night, only to see mum being kicked in the stomach.
She wouldn’t admit it, but she’s grateful for that 999 call.
Anxiety, while you sometimes got it right there have been many occasions when you got it wrong.
Do remember all those tubes and buses you made me get off because you thought a terrorist attack was imminent? I lost count at how many times I was late for work.
Do you remember those Final Destination-esque scenarious you’d play in my mind? Plane blowing up or crashing into the ocean? Being chased and stabbed in the back? Being kidnapped? Being hit by a car? Hair getting stuck in the plug hole?
There’s not a scenario involving death that you didn’t implant into my imagination.
I want you to know that it’s okay.
Bad things happen, you only need to open the newspaper or watch the opening credits to a news programme to know that.
But, you putting the mother of all fears in me won’t stop those things happening. In fact, they may not happen at all and that is what I need you to understand.
I need you to stop taking the what if by both hands and simply let it go.
Anxiety, for a long while, you were the only thing who truly understood me. The tears, the not wanting to go to school, the not being able to eat, but you can let go now.
Truth is, I’m trying my damn hardest to get better and the less anxious you make me, the better.
I want to feel like a child without a care in the world, except of course with bills and rent to pay.
Dear Anxiety, you served me well at a time when I needed you but your job is done.