Dear M.E

You have a sister, she is called anxiety.

Like you and your best friend, you are her just fit, compliment each other in ways that are worse for me. she is the hammer, you are the nail, and I am a bad DIY job, that you feel indebted to make worse. I look like a porcupine with all these nails in me.

Have you ever seen an animal in pain?

An animal in pain, lashes out, feels insecure, growls, and hisses, and doesn’t trust anything, to a suffering animal everything is a threat. you have made me like that, you make it very hard for me to defend myself, to have the energy to deal with the world, so the world feels too big.

This is where your sister comes in, she sways in, and pretends to be reassuring, coaxing, she wraps herself around me. whispering, “I know, the world is scary, you are right to be afraid.” at first she seems kind, much kind then you, as she says, “You are not good enough to deal with this, I understand, we’ll just hide together, you and I.”

But anxiety she is sneaky, she pries her way in and once there, cause havoc. she screams that i am not worthy, that i am not good. That the pain you put through is what i deserve. She says that people hate me, she convinces me that I am a burden, I am waste, that something terrible is going to happen. She tells me this all the time, when I let my cats out, when I say goodbye to my mum, when i risk losing anything just by letting them out of sight. She knows that I have a lot to lose, that i depend on other people, she knows this, and she makes me very afraid of it.

Anxiety keeps me awake at night sometimes, preparing me for all the bad things that could happen. and she makes me feel out of my freaking mind sometimes. there is only so much you can prepare for.

She is very self involved too, She pretends to be kind at first, but then makes all about her. “Those people, over there,” she says frantically, “You know, the ones giggling. They’re giggling about you. they’re laughing at you. You are a joke. we’re joke. We don’t belong.”

She is not calculating like you, she frantic and fast, and brings on panic attacks like freak storms. but you love it, any sign of stress, the racing heartbeat, the way the air come in like rocks and rattles in my lungs. you’d make me pay for that for a week. the headache that lingers after her attack is not her, thats you. and you make it all the more easy to be afraid.

I could deal with anxiety if not for you, I could deal depression if not from you. but as you all crowd in, I feel like a pebble overwhelmed by a wave, I feel taken by the tide, powerless.

I write this to you  now, my third letter to you as I take advantage of the small window of peace you have granted me, I feel you eek in. we have talked about you a lot today, admitted your faults and your effects, and how you walk hand hand with depression and anxiety.

And I sit, in this place we have become accustomed too, on our sofa with the fluffy pink throw and two blankets, thinking; upstairs is a long way to go for a pair of socks. and my neck aches, it can’t really support itself, my back is…awful. And I plan on finishing this and resuming my rewatch of friends, because committing to a ten season show is all we seem to manage.

Your sister has become quieter lately, she doesn’t scream as often, i feel a little stronger against her wiles, but sometimes her freak storms will happen, and I’ll be standing in the kitchen on my cousin’s house and feel the world quite suddenly come upon me. I’ll hide it, and escape to their back garden, where I’ll suck in the damp air and feel rocks hit my lungs, and my head begin to throb.

Routine is what we have, they call it pacing, I went to a consultant for a over a year to learn what I already knew; You hate surprises, you  cannot take them, so we have bordered our surroundings, to make them as safe as possible, only reaching out in controlled circumstances, with plenty of preparation, its no wonder that we fear the events we cannot control. You are all about control M.E.

Yours bitterly

Me.

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