She is Anxiety

A ghost of myself has walked with me,

she told me all the things I thought I wanted to hear.

“He is just trying to hurt you. He wants to punish you. You’re better than this. I will be your wall and make this burden easier to bear.”

A specter of myself stood in front of me.

I let her lead because I’m too scared.

“He thinks your fat. He thinks your stupid. He thinks your crazy. He’s going to hurt you. He’ll take your heart and rip it up tear by tear.”

The voice of my demon whispers to me, and I listen to it because sometimes it’s the only thing I hear.

“You’re pathetic. Hide your tears. No one cares and you’ve been dying inside for years.”

Sometimes I can hear it. A memory of voice I’ve heard before. The anger and resentment it came from I knew was real. Auditory hallucinations reminding me of how the pain feels.

“I will never marry you! You’re just a try-hard whore.”

The darkness that lives inside me tells me that it’s true. She’s convinced I should not live anymore.

“You’ll never be good enough. It can be so easy. They don’t need you. Let’s finally sleep peacefully. Roll up the windows and start the car. Get the razor. Only one cut to take it that far.”

I’m screaming on the inside. I’m choking on the doubt. I was losing myself to the monster of anxiety and trying to cry out.

For the first time, in a long time, I hear my own voice reaching above the surface for you, “Please help me. Tell me what to do. Has it been too long? I still fucking love you.”

I’m alone feeling scared and helpless. Trying to avoid the pain and utter hopelessness.

She waits there in the dark, stalking like she’s on the hunt. Waiting for the next time you call me a cunt.