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Mar 2017
You always read about anxiety as a thing you get when you're about to talk to someone you like, or about to go up and speak in front of a bunch of people, and for the longest time I thought my thoughts on anxiety, my anxiety was different from everyone else's, weird.

But I was fortunate to come across a poem, a kind of rant,
that decussed the same issue I was in. And sure, I'm not saying that anxiety doesn't involve getting nervous, or sweaty palms when doing something so small, so simple, but yet it can feel like the biggest thing in the world at the time, because yeah, that can be anxious anxiety, but what I'm talking about is the kind of anxiety where you stay in bed for 4 days straight because you're scared of what will happen if you get out of the comfor of your own room, you know making up a thousand different scenarios of how bad things could turn out.

Anxiety isn't just nerves or scared to do something so little, no anxiety is where you're scared of life itself, scared of living. Anxiety is a mental disorder, and I wouldn't wish it apon the worst of people.
Rant?
Writing is relief
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Writing is relief
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