Anxiety

Anxiety is like hitting that brick wall over and over again and hoping that maybe one slate will come loose; spoiler alert it never does. 
Anxiety is the tightening of your chest, getting in an ambulance and hoping you’re in cardiac arrest. Anxiety is circling the drain, hoping that it will suck you in and you’ll never surface, that the oxygen is too far away. Anxiety is replaying memories and thinking what you could have done and what you didn’t do. Anxiety is not talking to friends and family for weeks, months, years and you’re too scared to contact them, they’ll forget about you anyway. Every day is the same and you believe you can’t change. It’s not wanting to meet up with anyone. Or making plans and quickly pulling out; your four walls are the comfort you want. Anxiety is people believing you’re being self centred, that you’re just lazy. Anxiety feels like a huge hole in your head, burning every day as you try and process normal things like a human. It feels like fire in the nerves whenever you need to answer the phone; finding an excuse to quickly turn the cell over and ignore it. It’s the feeling of nothing, of the nights you cried yourself to sleep. It’s the feeling that you’ll never see the end of the day, even though it’s 11PM. A never ending cycle that seems to be a ground hog day. Depression is deeper, it sticks to you like glue. Everywhere you go, you catch a glimpse of a family member who’s no longer here. You lie at night, your heart thumping in your ears and the memories replaying. For me, it’s my uncle G lying in his coffin. My mum saying to touch his hand, then when I did she said it warmed to me; although it was stone cold. I went outside, sat on the cold step, looked to the stars and put my earphones in. I cried. I must have cried for 2 hours before anyone even came looking. I grew up fast from this, I was only 12. I knew my uncle george was in that room, or the carcass of my uncle G Depression is in your marrowbone, it seeps like fungi and weighs you down. You cry. For me, I feel everything. I feel everything that others should feel. I feel too much, I think too much. I need constant reassurance, I need to be treated like a child because I’ve never had the chance to be one.