A Letter to My Anxiety

Dear Anxiety,

You came without knocking,

Whispered lies while I was sleeping,

Clawed your way into my chest

And called it “home.”

You dressed up as caution,

But I see now, you were fear in disguise.

You made me question

Every smile,

Every silence,

Every second I wasn’t in control.

You told me they would leave,

That I was too much,

Or not enough.

You wrapped my confidence in barbed wire,

And watched me bleed self-doubt.

You made a storm out of every whisper,

A battlefield from a quiet room.

You convinced me of the worst case.

It was always the most likely.

But here's the truth,

You lied.

And I listened… for far too long.

I missed parties,

Dodged phone calls,

Said “I’m fine”

When my lungs were drowning.

You turned living into surviving.

You fed on my silence.

But today, I’m speaking.

I am not your puppet.

I am not your prisoner.

I will not apologize

For breathing without shaking.

I have scars from your grip,

But they’re healing.

And each one is proof:

I am stronger than your screams.

So here's what you need to know,

I may still feel you,

But I no longer fear you.

You don’t get to drive anymore.

You can ride in the back,

Quiet.

Small.

Forgotten.

Because I have mountains to climb,

People to love,

Dreams to wake up for,

And no space left

For your poison.

Sincerely,

Me.

Still standing.

Still rising.

Still free.