My anxiety is killing me

I’ve been carrying around a feeling of doom lately.

It’s there with me; even as I achieve what I set out to achieve.

For instance; yesterday I went to go see a structure get demolished. It was a controlled explosion of course.

The kind of controlled explosion misery becomes, when you live in it for so long.

My anxiety reminds me constantly of my limits. I find it nerve-racking sometimes to talk to people, as the White Cloud of Worthlessness follows me around like a bad smell hanging in the air.

After a couple of failed attempts at socialising, I was visited briefly by Tiny Ray of Hope, which seemed to give me some sort of strength in my heart to pluck up the courage and talk to a lovely lady about the day’s events.

Even so, Mr Anxiety has now planted himself in my brain; and unlike my giant Cloud friends, Mr Anxiety is a slithery creature. He will creep up on you, grab a hold of you, and doesn’t let go for quite a while. Quite the entitled sort.

My work kept me extremely busy; but he was still there, chatting away happily to the White Cloud of Worthlessness, but I ignored them both.

By the end of the day, I joked to a friend of mine how I was dying inside. It’s sad, and it’d be tragic if it wasn’t so funny.

My anxiety is killing me: I observe many a time. It is so debilitating; that it stops me from living any sort of worthwhile life.

He has been with me since childhood, has Mr Anxiety. He used to give me panic attacks, but somehow he too has grown tired of this over the years. He’s become an old man, perhaps with a walking stick that he uses to strike me with occasionally in a half-arsed sort of way. He grunts nonsensically now. But his words are still heard loud and clear.


Yet, I insist that he won’t defeat me.

I can. Whispers Tiny Ray of Hope in its tiny voice.

And so, I continue.


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