anxiety is my best friend

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Anxiety is my best friend.

He’s always there

keeping me from doing anything

too risky

as we stay up and talk

late into the night.

We met each other years ago,

on the playground at school

under the monkey bars.

No one else would befriend me,

but with him I found

a safe pocket of acceptance

and the patterns of

my heart and brain and breath

began to change.

And we are attached at the hip,

he’s my  other half,

and I thank him everyday

for always being there.

 

But what if I woke up and realized

that years of this friendship,

of this destruction,

had been created by me?

And my  dreams are the best part

because when I dream I wake up,

and I don’t need him to be my other half.

I am whole on my own

and I can tell the difference between

a pocket of acceptance

and being enveloped in a dark cloud.

And I am free.

 

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