Play pretend. Act normal. Deal with it.
Hurling comments one after another. No wonder I keep it to myself. I’m afraid to ask if I can go sit at a friends house because “dealing with it means that you swallow whatever it is and move on” without anyone being involved. I’m more afraid to be alone when I’m weak. Funny that I didn’t speak loud enough when I overdosed.
I can deal with it. I have been dealing with it for quite some time now. It’s an exhausting way of fighting anxiety, but there’s more than just ‘swallowing’ the trouble. Telling me to “act normal” is just a way of telling me that my pretending isn’t working anymore and I need to try harder. If there is one thing I am good at, it’s acting. Normal, is there really such a thing? Letting go is a very challenging task, but this time it’s just being locked up.
I’m starting to believe that there is really no point of writing or discussing anxiety. After all, aren’t the ones dealing with it just “playing pretend?” I’m hearing the words being spoken, but I am honestly shocked at who’s not listening. Everyday is a war of getting up. Panic attacks are not a piece of cake. It’s cake that got smashed right into the lungs and fighting to escape, but somehow this fight belongs to the anxiety that’s taking every breath away and making it harder to breathe. Recover from that quickly and go into work, be my guest. Or go hide in the bathroom stall and mis-greet one of the tables by 15 minutes and walk out like you own the place. Play pretend, I do that daily. It’s just sad that the words I’m speaking aren’t being listened to. I fight everyday to do the things I need to do. I know where I stand, and you stand opposite looking down upon me as if I am not giving it my everything to maintain my life of being “normal.”
Tell me that I can conquer anything, and I believe you. Tell me that I have to deal with my anxiety, and you don’t believe me.