An Open Breakup Letter to Anxiety
Dear Anxiety,
I know we've been together a long time. As far back as I can remember, really. However, our relationship has been on the rocks the past few years, and unfortunately, I feel that it's best for both of us if we just go our separate ways. Well, at least best for me.
I used to believe that you were actually helping me out: that, somehow, your ability to convince me to fear everything from aliens to being alone in the dark to possibly dying of a freak accident while doing something completely normal was saving me from something. Perhaps I was grateful to you for opening my eyes to the dangers all around me.
Then there were the times in high school when you promised me that, unless I agonized over every little thing I may have done wrong and went back and tried to make them all right (sometimes more than once), I wasn't really a good person. In some ways, I was grateful to be so aware of my mistakes because at least then I could do something about them.
Of course, you were also always right there to reassure me of the importance of obsessing over the future - what might happen, how I should act, what I should say, what other people would think of me. At the time, I was sure I was more prepared to handle my life because I had spent so much time trying to think through various situations I might face. I was sort of glad to be so "prepared" for the future.
My sophomore year of college was when I knew. I knew you were bad for me. You became outright abusive. The anxiety attacks that left me curled up in the fetal position, the fear of open spaces, the frequent overwhelming conviction that I simply could not handle my life anymore. All of those things finally convinced me that I'd been lying to myself about you for years.
I realized how miserable I had always been, living with that agony and fear. Obsessing over the future and the past, even over the present. Overanalyzing everything that had happened, could happen, or most likely wouldn't happen in a million years, but, you know, what if? I often failed to really live and enjoy my life because I was so busy listening to your insistence that I needed to worry.
The truth is, Anxiety, we've been growing apart because I see now how unhealthy you are for me. In no way is it going to be helpful for me to lie in bed, night after night, imagining what horrible things might happen to my family and try, with my complete lack of knowledge and experience, to come up with escape plans. At no time will it serve me well to be paralyzed by fear of what someone else thinks of me while I'm trying to carry on a conversation with him or her. Nothing you can say will convince me that I need you around to help me shame myself for all the mistakes I've made.
I admit, I've been seeing someone else lately. His name is True Love. He's showing me how to truly love myself. To love God. To love others. And truly doing those things has helped me to see that I don't need you. Loving myself means that I forgive, rather than berate, myself when I make a mistake. Loving God means believing His promise that He will help me through anything, so I need not try to think through every possible calamity that could befall me. Loving others means that I care less about any little judgments they might make about me and instead try to see who they really are, care about them, and be kind to them.
I don't need you anymore, Anxiety. I do need Love. I will always need Love.
I'm sorry, but I'm just not sorry.
Sincerely, Kara
I know we've been together a long time. As far back as I can remember, really. However, our relationship has been on the rocks the past few years, and unfortunately, I feel that it's best for both of us if we just go our separate ways. Well, at least best for me.
I used to believe that you were actually helping me out: that, somehow, your ability to convince me to fear everything from aliens to being alone in the dark to possibly dying of a freak accident while doing something completely normal was saving me from something. Perhaps I was grateful to you for opening my eyes to the dangers all around me.
Then there were the times in high school when you promised me that, unless I agonized over every little thing I may have done wrong and went back and tried to make them all right (sometimes more than once), I wasn't really a good person. In some ways, I was grateful to be so aware of my mistakes because at least then I could do something about them.
Of course, you were also always right there to reassure me of the importance of obsessing over the future - what might happen, how I should act, what I should say, what other people would think of me. At the time, I was sure I was more prepared to handle my life because I had spent so much time trying to think through various situations I might face. I was sort of glad to be so "prepared" for the future.
My sophomore year of college was when I knew. I knew you were bad for me. You became outright abusive. The anxiety attacks that left me curled up in the fetal position, the fear of open spaces, the frequent overwhelming conviction that I simply could not handle my life anymore. All of those things finally convinced me that I'd been lying to myself about you for years.
I realized how miserable I had always been, living with that agony and fear. Obsessing over the future and the past, even over the present. Overanalyzing everything that had happened, could happen, or most likely wouldn't happen in a million years, but, you know, what if? I often failed to really live and enjoy my life because I was so busy listening to your insistence that I needed to worry.
The truth is, Anxiety, we've been growing apart because I see now how unhealthy you are for me. In no way is it going to be helpful for me to lie in bed, night after night, imagining what horrible things might happen to my family and try, with my complete lack of knowledge and experience, to come up with escape plans. At no time will it serve me well to be paralyzed by fear of what someone else thinks of me while I'm trying to carry on a conversation with him or her. Nothing you can say will convince me that I need you around to help me shame myself for all the mistakes I've made.
I admit, I've been seeing someone else lately. His name is True Love. He's showing me how to truly love myself. To love God. To love others. And truly doing those things has helped me to see that I don't need you. Loving myself means that I forgive, rather than berate, myself when I make a mistake. Loving God means believing His promise that He will help me through anything, so I need not try to think through every possible calamity that could befall me. Loving others means that I care less about any little judgments they might make about me and instead try to see who they really are, care about them, and be kind to them.
I don't need you anymore, Anxiety. I do need Love. I will always need Love.
I'm sorry, but I'm just not sorry.
Sincerely, Kara
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