That’s what I whisper to myself when I’m overridden with terrible thoughts. When I’m trying to hold on, but my demons are grasped tightly to my ankles. They’re like an anchor. They are constantly tied to me. And when I flourish, and bloom, and I get to the end of my chain, they are quick to slam their hold over me and pull me back to real life. And what is real life? It’s where they control every aspect of my life.
I want to say I hate them.
But really, do I? I mean, they’re all I’ve ever known. From the time I was a tiny girl, I’ve been haunted. Haunted with intrusive and terrible thoughts. Thoughts that would rip through me and make me think I was crazy. I didn’t understand at four years old what was wrong with me. In fact, I thought it was normal. I mean . . didn’t everyone plot their death
Right from my earliest memories. Thoughts would stumble into my mind, and I’d feel instant anxiety. I was a terrible person. How could I think that. And it ate at me, every single day of my life. Sleep was not in the picture for me.
I remember the “sleep problems” I gave.
But what no one knew was I just couldn’t be alone. If I was alone, then it would all start again, and I just couldn’t do it again. I’d get out of my bed, over and over again, to the point where my parents probably felt quite hopeless. My heart raced. My palms sweaty. My brain never stopped. My mind never rested.
I needed someone to listen.
I’d always feel the need to “confess”. Confess what I now know were intrusive thoughts. My heart breaks for that little girl. Just so misunderstood and broken. Haunted right from the beginning. And, now I’m 31. And I am carrying every minute of my life on my shoulders. Because when you live with anxiety, you overthink everything. So my life is on constant replay in my mind. And I criticize and rip me apart all day, and all night.
I am starting therapy in a week. I’m feeling terrified of all these feelings.