Resigning from the Edge

To Whom It May Concern (Anxiety, you know who you are...bitch),

I am writing to inform you that, oh my god, I am so done with being anxious all the goddamn time, your emotional hostage, and unpaid intern. Please consider this my official two-week notice as I've started looking into proper therapy. Just know I write this with shaky fingers, a racing heart, and—ironically—a sense of calm; you're the type to get a sick kick out of that, Anxiety.

I'm finally submitting this notice because I am so tired of being labeled "the anxious one," "the nervous one," "the worrywart," or the "great event and vacation planner because I think about and consider everything." Those shouldn't be considered adequate titles in compliance with my overall personality, which you still may have heavily influenced, Anxiety. Still, you're not an overarching pillar as to who I am. It's honestly quite disrespectful.

I would like to take this opportunity to not only spit directly in your face, Anxiety, but to thank you for all the warped support during my time with you.

Look, I get it: fight or flight and all that. But, seriously, me going to the grocery store or driving to work should NOT account for me being scared shitless for NO goddamn reason. It's Target for crying out loud. It's a 25-minute drive to work. I know anything can happen in that time, but I'm so tired of nearly hyperventilating or just completely needing to disassociate when I'm behind the wheel. It's not only dangerous as it can impair my reaction time, but it's just plain annoying. I've missed so many good songs on my playlist because we HAD to block out the honking of cars around us (that aren't even directed towards us!). Dick move, Anxiety.

I do personally regret to say, however, that our time together has revealed some things I otherwise would not have known about myself.

While you, Anxiety, do cause me to worry excessively, you've taught me that I always tend to have a good handle on situations, regardless of their current state and outcome. Because I think of and consider every situation and every detail of a situation, I am a pretty damn good event planner. You've allowed me to face what others would deem a catastrophe with a neutral expression, already having the answer to a problem I've been overthinking for the last few months. Just...don't let it inflate your ego, alright, Anxiety? I'll give you one good compliment, that's it.

Otherwise, you and I have been through a lot, haven't we? Not to get too nostalgic, as I'm still very salty about our relationship. I don't exactly remember when you came on board; you were here one day, completely unexpected. You're just lucky I had the payroll available for an extra emotion at the time, since I was so young.

Yet, I knew something had to be off when the plethora of "just in cases" and "what ifs" started circling in my head. I thought at first maybe these precautionary thoughts were just you trying to help, to keep me safe like a super intense life coach who got their certification from a cereal box. At first, I didn't question it as I'd prepare for routine tasks like rehearsing a conversation 50 times before making the 3-minute phone call, or getting ready for work 2 hours earlier than necessary. I'll admit, it took me an embarrassingly long time, but I slowly began to realize that maybe this way of thinking wasn't normal.

In the end, I found you were just loud, Anxiety. Loud and so goddamn persistent like a monolouged version of a car alarm at 2 a.m. that just won't shut off. Ever.

Still, I've managed to grow, albeit a bit awkwardly and slowly most times. Sometimes even while in the fetal position - regardless! Not only have I learned to set boundaries with other people who would trigger you, Anxiety, I've also learned to set boundaries with you as well. A big shock? Well, it really shouldn't be.

As much as I would love to leave your hellish excuse for a driven, fast-paced environment, I know getting rid of you and your influence is next to impossible. You're like glitter from a crafting project: I'll be finding pieces of you in the strangest places at the strangest times for years to come. Only now, there will be less panic, less of a surprise. I'll greet you with a nod and half smile, ask about your day, and that will be that.

Anxiety, you must know by now that this resignation isn't me pretending you don't exist. It's not me blocking you and ignoring every call from an unknown number; it's about redefining my relationship with you. You're no longer calling the shots. You're now just the weird coworker who's always muttering to themselves about how everything is going to go wrong, while I nod and stir my coffee before returning to my desk.

Harsh feelings aside, I do want to thank you for your attempts; they were appreciated at the time, but now it's all mental cardio with no health benefits, and I'm just exhausted. Now I know I'm not cured, healed, or completely fixed. I just know when to say, "No thanks, I've got it from here" when you come barging in with phantom concepts and illogical "what ifs."

Nice try, Anxiety, but you've had your time.

Now, you're still allowed to hang in the background like someone's creepy uncle at family gatherings, but you don't get to sit at the adult table anymore. No more catastrophizing, no more sweaty-palmed rehearsals or surges of life-or-death adrenaline while going 40 mph on a busy two-lane street. I still see you, I still hear you, but I'm not obeying you anymore.

Period.

So, in the end, thank you for the lessons, the extra awareness of my heartbeat, and painful memories of hyperventilating in front of the car shop worker when I couldn't find my debit card to pay for an oil change. Yeah, that still lives rent-free in my head. Thanks.

But, as per my last panic attack, it's time for me to move on; lighter, slower, and maybe even with a smile on my face.

With much respect (and a better coping mechanism),

Me.

Former Assistant to the Impending Doom.