I don’t even know what it’s like to not have anxiety. I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. The first time the words “I hate my life” slithered from my lips I was only 9 years old. Those words became a venomous regularity. That was the time of my life where the sun stopped shining so brightly and the darkness crept in.
My mother chose to marry one of the cruelest men I have ever had in my life. I suffered his presence for a mere three years, but it felt like three lifetimes.
Nine years old is when I learned how to hold back tears when someone screams at me for no reason. Nine years old is when I learned what a meth user looked like. (I thank whatever powers that be that my mother didn’t join in those activities.) At nine years old I was taught the broken image of a “family.” Whether I was woken up by moans, crying, or angry yelling I had the exact same lump of rock in my gut as I do today. That rock that stays forever and seems to only get heavier. It causes ulcers, acid reflux, fatigue, hormone irregularities, shorter life span. I can’t remember life before the rock of anxiety.
Somehow, reliving the worst parts of my life through this site has allowed me to feel better about each incident. For those of you reading, I thank you.
Please keep in mind that if you are struggling with anxiety or other mental illnesses, I am here with you. Typing it out to someone else can work wonders.