The hardest part about it is that I can’t help it, no matter how hard I try. Yeah, I can take meds, talk to people, etc, but the truth is all I want to do is not take meds, to not talk to random people (who are lovely but still people I don’t know), but to find comfort in those I love. But I’ll do these things anyway because I know they’ll help not just me but the people around me. It’ll take the burden off of them. With my mom being so far away it feels like I’m alone sometimes. People say they’ll stay. Even the loveliest people will stay but not after a certain breaking point. There will be a point when I feel certain that after all they have done they could never leave me to suffer alone, but that’s when their irritation comes, the overwhelming, the uncertainty. I hate that I need people. I hate that every time I feel the pricks of anxiety threatening to burst through my head, I feel myself failing just a little more. People are lovely. The people in my life are lovely. I wish I didn’t have to deal with anxiety, but even more I wish they didn’t have to either. The other hard thing is that I know what I want. I know I want certainty. I want certainty from those around me — when will be the next time I see you? can I stop over some time and hang in your room when I don’t want to walk all the way home? do you still care? is this too much? how many times can I crash at yours in a row when my anxiety is hitting the roof until you get incessantly frustrated with me? do you want me here?
Those questions would be overwhelming to anyone. But most of all to me. I’m the one with them in my head. And I hate that I need these questions answered for my anxiety to ease. I hate these questions. I hate them. I hate that I don’t want them answered. The real me couldn’t care less. But anxiety makes them spin around in my head until they come rushing out of my mouth and I hate it. I just want to be happy. I hate hearing the exasperation or irritation or annoyance in peoples’ tones when I ask simple questions seeking that reassurance that will make my anxiety slow down. I hate that no one gets it, not even me. I hate that I make myself so hard to love when I love so hard.