Anxiety is Selfish

Anxiety consumes my time, my love, my energy.

It has broken the relationships I’ve cultivated.

But it’s here to stay.

I hate it, but I can’t imagine a life without it.

I’ve lived with it so long that it’s my shadow.

Most days it stays in its corner,

Thinking of ways to catastrophize the most mundane things that happen.

But some days it leaps from its corner,

whispering lies and negativity with the hope that I believe.

I can fight it with contingencies and positivity,

but on rare occasions, when my defenses are down,

it consumes and swallows me whole.

That’s when I’m unhappy and selfish.

I expect others to deal with my issues

have no expectations

just be there.

Most days, my loved ones are patient and tell me stories to push the anxiety way.

It works.

Some days,

they want me to be normal, to be able to push it on my own.

“It’s hard,”

I say.

“You don’t know what it feels like,”

I say.

“Be kind,”

I beg.

They tell me,

“I love you,

“but I’m tired.”

I understand.

Anxiety is selfish.

Drawing by © 2016 Azzah B.A. Licensed under CC-BY