my therapist asks me to be the voice of my anxiety, just for a moment. if your anxiety was to speak, what would it say?
i think if she had a voice it would be a sweet violet, almost grey. i think her fog hands would come up over my mouth and eyes. i think she would say:
i love you, be safe. i love you, tighten the seatbelt. i love you, don't leave the door unlocked. i love you, i love you. you shouldn't talk to those people, they'll hurt you. i know you did the reading, but don't speak up in class - what if you're wrong? i'm protecting you from that. it hurts when people reject you, stop making plans with friends. oh, don't eat, my love, stay hungry, it keeps you fresh. oh, i love you, get out of bed and check the lock again, you know you're always forgetting things. oh, i love you, stay awake an hour more, this life is so blisteringly, terribly short.
i think if my anxiety had a body outside of me, she'd always have her arms crossed. her nails would be bitten back. her cheeks would be hollow. i think she'd watch the slow silent way depression french-kisses me into cooperating, and i think she'd laugh awkwardly. i think she wants to hold hands with me and never does.
my therapist says: you think anxiety is love?
and i say - no, i'm not being clear. i'm saying it's cold there. i'm saying in every version of herself, my anxiety has teeth.