The Art of My Anxiety

[GoldenGray]

Look at me and treat me like the dumb **** I am. Criticize my behavior, because that is what you’ve been trained to do and I’m here for the butt of your joke. I’m inexperienced, naive, and slightly dense, but not oblivious to your actions. I’m sorry I make your life difficult, but I’m uncomfortable with this too, and it’s miserable. I wish you knew.


A pressure is crushing my chest and it’s making me stutter. I can’t even look you in the eye. How amazing it must feel to communicate so naturally, yet every day I struggle to expel an idea. Do you want to try to make sense of my word vomit? I don’t blame you if you’re confused.



These lights are so bright and my head is throbbing. The noise around me is suffocating. A few people are beside me, but it feels like a crowd. There is no way to escape. I’m trapped, I’m claustrophobic, and I want to cry, but I don’t want to reveal another weakness. I struggle to understand why I’m afraid and why a grown adult is feeling this way, especially around their own kind. What is the threatening cause of my behavior and how have I gotten to this point?



I attempt to vocalize my thought, but everyone is puzzled and they don’t know how to respond. The look of pity escalates with tension in my chest and I wonder how I would appear if I were looking at myself. I try to swallow the anxiety, but I end up choking on my saliva. My eyes become wide and dodge awkwardly across the room, because I can no longer hide my nervousness. A trembling sensation travels up my legs and to the pit of my stomach, making me feel as though I’m going to regurgitate my breakfast. At this point, I’m very restless and disturbed. I’m very aware of my body and overly sensitive to my surroundings. My movements become uneasy and people begin to question my abilities. Standing idle makes me more nervous, as though they are expecting me to do something, yet I’m afraid of making a further *** of myself. The intensity of the situation makes me black out and I forget my reactions, but I can clearly see theirs.


I ****ing hate being the moron, the dimwit, the weird gal, and I can’t stand that it puts me in the spotlight, because I’m bizarre. There is no way to turn this around, because I’ve tried. The anxiety is more manageable than it used to be, but it’s a never-ending battle. The stress is going to shred years off of my life. I can’t imagine the effect it has on my health. I wonder if this feeling will continue in a spiritual form, or does it end when I rid myself of this body? How possible is mind over matter and why is it so complicated to manipulate my thoughts?

[l0nab33]

this makes me want to cry.