Living with Anxiety

Living with anxiety is like living in a horror movie in which you know you’ll die for certain but you don’t know when and how, and you can’t trust anybody else.

Living with anxiety is like having thousands of tiny people running around inside your head, screaming, without purpose or destination, and you try to get them to calm down and walk in a line to a single destination but they just won’t listen.

Living with anxiety is like being so worked up over your inability to decide between the red chocolate or the blue chocolate that you set your house on fire.

Living with anxiety is like trying to douse your burning house with water again and again, and then you realize that the water was actually kerosene.

Living with anxiety is like getting your house to finally stop burning and sitting down with a sense of relief, and then you notice a spark, panic, and set your house on fire again.

Living with anxiety is like screaming and cursing at your house to stop burning, knowing very well that yelling at the house won’t help, but you keep doing it anyway.

Living with anxiety is like wanting to tap dance with a panda and throw stones at every person at the same time.

Living with anxiety is like telling people that you want to tap dance with a panda and throw stones at every person and they think you’re just saying that for the attention.

Living with anxiety is like keeping a five-hundred-pound object on your lap in a way that you cannot get up, cannot move, cannot do anything.

Living with anxiety is like shouting out loud in a crowded room and yet nobody can hear you.

Living with anxiety is like running down a never-ending spiral staircase.

Living with anxiety is real, and it’s lonely.

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