My anxiety is a Jill of all things, yet Mistress of none.
By that, I mean that she likes to learn about things, gets easily excited by them
But she only ever learns enough to just about squeak by in polite conversation at enforced social gatherings.
My anxiety knows if she somehow managed to trick people into believing that she is intelligent & inciteful
Then the conversation will somehow become less polite, become forced out through gritted teeth & painted on smiles.
So she says only enough to be seen as polite, then scuttles back into the shadows with a book & a pot of tea with almond milk.
My anxiety can sense when I am enthused by something, & steps in to halt my progress with a gentle rebuke, turns butterflies to palpitations.
“What if…?” No. No. The attention garnered by being good at something – anything – is too much to bear
Better to remain averagely mediocre & easily forgettable. Now where did she leave that book?
My anxiety knows that I function best when I am rested, am more approachable & alert.
So she waits until I’m standing on the precipice of sleep, then jerks me awake – & away from that free fall that I so willingly long for each night
Asks a series of deep reaching questions, guaranteed to keep my mind whirring , unable to still..
My anxiety knows that I could become her worst enemy , learn techniques to soothe & calm
Talk her around to my point of view.
And that scares her, and so my anxiety has vowed to always be my very, very closest friend.