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When everything gets on your nerves

hey people,

Sometimes fear of exams creeps up on me, making it through my doors of self-love with a carefully crafted key. Those days aren't that bad, I can work through those days. Other times, however, it appears with an army of paranoia, breaking that door away with a hammer, bit by bit. That's the only way I put my panic attacks into words.

I am surrounded by people who say they love and care for me. I am surrounded by positivity and affection, by rainbows and unicorns, by biryani and smoothies and every happy thing that exists in this vast universe. They are reminders that while the deadlines burden me, they don't at least sound like it's the dooms day!

I thought that my anxiety may have been passed down to me, generation after generation. I tried to look at my family tree and try to trace the roots of this paranoia ... But then I saw my face (my father's features and mother's smile), and I remember that anxiety is of least of my inheritance .

The past doesn't leave me, and the future just gets the blood pressure rising. There are plans to execute , the flashback of time wasted. The plans and execution are just not in proportion ! 

I used to distinguish between 'anxiety me' and 'normal me'. I've slowly learned to accept that it is the uninvited relative, in a dark corner in my favourite room- annoying and ever present.

 I've spent nights wishing my anxiety was a physical ailment. Something the world could see, something they could understand. If it was a physical ailment, however, I don't think it would  be the appendix. It would probably be a handicap limb  holding me back I try to march forward. But for the kind of person I am ... I will march forward ,even if it is slow.

Dear anxiety , 
You were the reason I woke up crying, for years before my finals. The reason I saw negativity everywhere I went, my vision clouded with self-doubt. I'm still trying to forgive you and myself for that.

 You're only a room though, you are not the home. You are a part of me. You are not me.

You're the unwanted appendage. Like an appendix, constantly aching but no doctor in the world can carve you out. I'd give anything to cut you away, and leave you rot as I prosper.

Yours but not yours truly!





O

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