Unwelcome Company

I refer to "my anxiety" as though it's something I own, rather than something that owns me. There's something comforting in that - as though anxiety were a caring parent setting my curfew instead of a tyrannical dictator commanding my every move.

Used this way, it becomes an almost-soothing shield. I can't step outside my comfort zone, oh no - my anxiety would never allow that. It rides in the bus seat next to me, whispering in my ear. My anxiety is my best friend; the kind of friend who has been around for so long you can't even imagine life without them. The kind who, had you met today instead of so many years ago, you likely would never have connected. The kind of friend you keep even closer than your enemies.

Sometimes, my anxiety is a sentinel - it watches out for me and any harm that might come my way (and there is plenty, always). It guards my brain and my heart, keeping out any ill-intentioned intruders. Sometimes, it's a prison guard, menacing me with its baton should I dare to leave the confines of my room.

My anxiety is the third member of all my relationships. Sex becomes an instant threesome with anxiety by my side. I spice things up by attempting to simultaneously please both my partner and my anxiety. I get freaky by struggling to smother my anxiety enough that I can focus on my own pleasure. My anxiety knows all my flaws and does not hesitate to trace them in every fingertip's touch.

I try to be conscious of the parts of my brain that anxiety built. I try to not allow myself to be held back by predicted fear or anticipated disaster. But, friends, it is hard. How do I tell the difference between my often-excellent instincts and my usually-overreacting brain weasels? How do I forge forward into new territory when all the fibers of my being are screaming against my skull?

Anxiety has a heavy hand. Some days, it's all I can do to drag myself from underneath it, panting and exhausted. But I'm doing it, and I'm going to keep doing it for as long as I need to. I wish I could say it gets easier as time goes by - and maybe, eventually, it will - but if nothing else, it does get easier to talk about. And, sometimes, that makes all the difference.