A Letter From Anxiety

Dear Human . . .

Love, Anxiety

Hey, it’s your archnemesis, Anxiety. Wait, don’t run away! I know that just the fleeting thought of me makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. But can you just sit with me for a while? I have a few things to tell you, and I hope they can clear your mind. Please don’t shiver. Don’t shut yourself away. Don’t let Panic visit us, too. It’s just me, Anxiety, and you, dear reader. It won’t be too long of a conversation; I’m always here temporarily, after all.

While you sit with me, please treat me with kindness. If you can welcome me in with gentleness, I won’t make you suffer as terribly. You might need to trick yourself into being friendly since you’re usually so upset with me. I’m sure it’s hard to be kind to someone who has hurt you over and over again. So, pretend I’m an acquaintance you feel indifferent about. I’m your co-worker, but we don’t work directly together. I’m a friend of a friend of a friend. We smile politely and acknowledge each other but don’t engage in conversation. You can continue to go about your day while I hang around. Don’t mind me…

You’re not doing a very good job at this, I see. You’re focusing pretty hard on the fact that I’m hanging around. You’re dwelling on my presence so hard you can’t even take a deep breath. You’re absolutely not treating me nicely. I can hear your thoughts. You want me to go away. I’m not welcome. You think I’m ugly. Now you’re pissing me off. It looks like things are going to have to get a little nasty before our relationship issues can mend. You asked for it…

Let’s roleplay, bitch. Today I wear mossy green, hickory, and smoky gray. If you could touch me, your fingers might brush against rough, flaky bark or smooth, velvety foliage. When you step on me, dry leaves crunch and twigs snap. I’ve brought props as well, and they sound like booming thunder, still far away but approaching. Are you in the mood yet? I am a hiking trail that winds through the forest, and an afternoon storm is brewing in the distance.

Why have I dressed as one of your favorite places in nature? Don’t you remember? When you were young, you and your Dad got lost in the woods for an hour as a thunderstorm rolled in. You were lost inside of me, Anxiety, as you chose one direction to walk and all you could do was hope you found a way back to your campsite.

When you were even younger, you and your family found yourselves trapped on a kayak trip in the middle of a much larger thunderstorm. You stood under the shortest trees nearby while lightning danced in the sky and thunder drowned out the voices that belonged to your parents, the voices that tried to comfort you. So, I come now, many years later, dressed up to remind you of the fear, regardless of your present danger.

"But Anxiety," you say, "This situation is much different. I am older. I am wiser. I have a map this time, and the weather forecast predicted no storms. I shouldn’t have to fear anything today."

But since we’re playing a game, I cackle maliciously and continue to put on a show for you. Today, I combine the fear from your past trauma, a stage of green set quite like those two days in the woods, and myself so I can manipulate and confuse you into believing that we are all one in the same.

Since I’m only temporary, I can only play with you for so long. Sometimes it only takes rational thoughts to chase me away. Other times you have to leave the auditorium I have set up for you completely. Since some traumas are stronger than others, like the fear you felt while lost and trapped in the woods, you usually have to remove yourself from the trails and the storms must evaporate before you can get me to leave. 

But I’m telling you, if you were friendlier towards me, we could hike through storms together without getting into a heated, tumultuous argument that leaves you short of breath…

Now I’m up for a game of Hide and Seek. But let’s add costumes to spice it up. It’s still me, Anxiety, but I’m in disguise. I’ll count first. While you’re hiding from me, you do many things. You laugh with your friends. You talk to a therapist. You eat big, delicious meals. You ride bikes for many miles. You create art and share it with others. But I’ve reached one hundred, and I’m coming to find you. 

In my unique outfit, I am impersonating a deep, aching pain in your neck. You feel the stiffness and soreness in your cervical spine, and you feel me, too, because I’ve dressed up as your pain. We are one in the same. I jump out and say, “I’ve found you!” Then, I watch you react.

You don’t know how you’ve conjured the “what ifs” that pop up in your mind. They seem unlikely and irrational, but they come to you anyway as you rub the back of your head. The little voices say, “It’s tetanus! It’s a stroke! It’s permanent! It’s a severe spinal injury that will require surgery!”

I grow stronger as I continue to sit there in your neck, dressed as the aching pain. I flood your whole mind until you’re swimming in me, and you’re just a useless rubber ducky in a bath of me, Anxiety.

It’s amusing to play games with you and watch you squirm. All I have to do is show up, and you do the rest of the work. If I didn’t impersonate your pain, if you had only experienced the aching without me there too, you’d have saved time you could have spent enjoying your life. You’d have eaten a bigger meal. You wouldn’t have bothered your friend or heard her tell you, “It’s nothing to worry about. You must have slept on your neck wrong.”

Do you wonder why I like to dress up as your physical pain? Come on, you know this one. You experienced spinal fusion when you were young and then had gallbladder surgery a few years later. Your trauma has gifted you with Hypochondria, which means I get to show up to the party when your body feels pain. Your mind jumps to the worst-case scenario because you live your life in absolute dread that you will have to experience something as bad or worse as your past medical issues.

I know I cause you pain, but my motive isn’t to do that. Do you know what I’m really here for? I am here to protect you.

Like every other emotion in existence, the purpose I serve is to keep you alive and well. Primal instincts were given to humans to keep them from dying. You’re anxious when lightning strikes because lightning can kill you. You’re anxious about health issues because serious health issues can kill you. You’re anxious when you have to slam on your brakes in traffic because car accidents can kill you.

You see, I’m here to serve as a warning. Watch out, my friend! I am present because a threat is near. I’m as bright as a caution sign because I have important messages for you. I heighten your senses, increase your heart rate, and prepare you to fight off danger. I warn you so you don’t have to suffer.

In some cases, my purpose can be counterintuitive, though. I sometimes cause you even more suffering than if I had never shown up. I can be impractical because I play those games with you, causing your heartbeat to quicken when you are perfectly safe. You worry about “what ifs” that will never happen. You feel me, and you jump to the conclusion that there is imminent danger. You struggle to discern between the times I am being serious and the times I am merely playing games.

Don’t forget that I am a normal human emotion trying to keep you safe. I am normal. Anxiety is normal. On the other hand, don’t forget that I also have a sense of humor. When I’m being funny, you will still feel me intensely even when you are not in peril. And because you take my jokes seriously and personally, it makes you special. This is the reason the doctors have given me a fancy name when I’m associated with you. That’s why they call me Generalized Anxiety Disorder instead of just Anxiety.

I won’t play any more games with you today. It’s unfriendly of me to do that to you, I know. However, sometimes I can’t help myself. Sometimes I live up to my association with negative emotions. I'm forced to play those games because you’ve formed habits so profoundly etched into you that they can’t be smoothed out and reformed easily. If those habits you have formed are rivers, then I am the water that flows through them.

I have earth-shattering advice for you. Use this guidance next time I play a game with you. Did you know that there is a way to separate my being from the costume I am wearing? There is a way to rip it right off, so I’m standing there naked and exposed. You can look at me as I am, Anxiety. And you can look at your situation as it is, completely disconnected from me. You can reshape the grooves of the river so that its mouth blocks me from entering it. Instead, you can choose peace, excitement, or gratitude to replace me. You could choose anything to flow in that river’s course, even anger, sadness, or other negative emotions, so be careful. Use the right tools that will work best for you. Once you’ve divided me from your circumstance, you can see me as an acquaintance. You can wave, smile, and then let me be.

Oh, and one more thing. Remember that I am only here for a moment. Like everything else in this world, I am impermanent.

Mental Health Blog Disclaimer

I am not a medical professional, therapist, or mental healthcare professional. The information provided on this website is for informational purposes only, comes from my own personal experiences, and may be read, interpreted, and practiced at your own risk. Do not rely on this information as a substitute to medical advice or treatment from a healthcare professional.