I’ll probably delete this, but you are not alone. — an anxious “letter”

I didn’t know any of you once, and while I’m glad for the relationships gained, things were easier then in the over-sharing department. I used to be shouting into the vast expanse of the internet without consequence. Now some of you have names and faces, and that’s scary to me, because judgement can therefore exist, and so…

I’ll probably delete this. But maybe it can help you, if you suffer from anxiety like me, to know you’re not alone. When you are desperate, you are not alone, and when you are strong, you are still not alone. I am fighting this battle with you, and even if it manifests itself in different ways, I am here, dealing with it just like you. I can’t offer much in the way of advice or aid or support, because I still don’t know how to help myself, but I AM here. And we’re fighting this monster under the same sky. And we will beat it together, even when it feels far too large to escape. Eventually.


I can’t say these things in real life, but I have to find a counselor soon. I’ve been meaning to do it for months, but my emotions are all over the place lately, and my anxiety is ever present (abet not a help in trouble–old hymn reference, don’t mind me), and I just can’t put it off anymore. And I started thinking, what would I even say to a counselor when I saw them and they asked why I was here? It changes from day to day, but I know that the anxiety and the ups and downs I live with every day can’t be normal. I know that everyone has worries, but not to this degree.

So I wrote something, but I already know I could never share it with them, because it’s full of unrealistic expectations and cries for help that will remain unanswered because counselors are just humans and not miracle workers. Some things we have to work for on our own. But I’m tired of working sometimes.

They, whoever the my end up being, won’t ever read it, but I can share it here. Because after I wrote it, I decided, hey, why not share this with the world? Because that’s what I do; I write about anime and overshare about my anxiety. So here we go.

This is not a cry for help. It reads exactly like one, but that’s the context, and it was incrediblycathartic. I’m taking the necessary steps, so no worries, please. I’d turn off comments, but I’m on mobile and don’t know how.

I’m capable of handling myself, and I’m okay.100% okay.

That sounds like denial, right? But I am okay, okay? (Lol) I am normal, and I am fine. My brain worries a lot, but that IS my normal, and it has been for 15 years or more. I just needed to get it out. Now, it’s out.

Feeling lighter already. *hugs*

I really shouldn’t post this. Writing it was enough.

But has that stopped me before?

And this might help someone else feel a little less alone.


Please help me, because I worry about everything.

I worry before I go to bed. I worry when I awake. I worry throughout the day over potential brain cancer, car accidents in wait, and an embarrassing incident thirteen years ago that my brain just won’t stop reenacting– STOP IT BRAIN; STOP IT NOW. I WANT TO GO TO SLEEP.

I’m always tired. I’m afraid to go out with my friends; I don’t like it, and social situations like that scare me anyway. I always do something wrong. At its best, it’s a few nights (or weeks) of reliving something innocuous I said and its various potential repercussions. At worst, it’s a panic attack. I’ve only ever had one, and everything was black and white and flashing, and I didn’t like it. It was hard to breathe. It’s harder to explain. I don’t want it to happen again. Please help me. Just make it go away?

I worry about what could happen at work. I worry about things [ANXIETY MADE ME REDACT THIS SENTENCE]. I worry that I suck at my job. I worry I’ll be fired. I worry I’ll be gossiped about. I worry people look at me because of my kick butt socks and curly pigtails. I am strange.

I worry about having kids—about being too young or too old or having them versus not having them at all and ending up alone. I worry about my relationship, and I worry about whether or not I’m withholding truth from myself. I worry about ending up with no one. I worry about getting stuck in illogical, dark places again and never resurfacing because no one’s there to save me and I’m too weak to save myself.

I worry about drinking too much, and alcoholism. I worry about pink eye. I worry about touching things that have touched things that might give me pink eye, so I can’t touch them. I wash my hands until they bleed; then, I accidentally touch something contaminated again. I spray my hands with Lysol spray. I realize how stupid and lazy that is, and then, I wash them again.

In addition to [REDACTED], I worry about the occasionally debilitating neck pain I’m too afraid to have fixed. I worry about paralysis. I worry about having wasted my life. I worry about how stupid and dramatic that sounds. I worry about sounding selfish. I worry about talking in my sleep.

I also feel incredibly guilty sometimes.

I feel like I’ll never be good enough. I feel like I’ll always let people down. I feel like I’m lazy and broken and dramatic and hung up on things that happened in the past that no one understands are still a big deal in my mind, even when I’m not thinking about them every day.

I think about my regrets, and sometimes I can’t stop. My brain never wants to stop, but it also never wants to work right.

I also have ADHD.

I’ve also been told I show symptoms of mild OCD.

But at least I don’t have to do things in groups of 8-8-4-4-3 anymore. And at least I don’t have to finish the entire song in the piano before I walk away, even if Mom is calling for me.

I still have to blow in all my glasses though. Because I have to check for moths, you know? And dust. And wood splinters or chips. But I’ll still forget to check for hot chocolate residue before I pour my milk in.

And my heart is broken.


I will end by saying again that— if you feel strong, if you feel weak, if you need catharsis, if you need space, if you need someone to understand, if you need the world to go away—you are not alone.

You will beat this monster. Even at your weakest, you’re stronger than you know. And so am I.



3 thoughts on “I’ll probably delete this, but you are not alone. — an anxious “letter”

  1. Hi! Seconded what Auri says, you are not alone, and I’m glad you felt able to share this. I could relate to a lot of what you put down in your letter as a fellow sufferer of anxiety.

    I also feel like I should probably see a counselor at some point, and have had similar worries about you as to what I would say to them and whether it’s worth sharing the things that rattle around in my head. The thing to remember is that it’s their job to interpret those things that you’re saying, however unreasonable they might seem; sometimes you don’t literally mean the things you want to scream out, and they can instead mean something else that you hadn’t thought of. A counselor can help you recognise that, because it’s not something that is easy (or even possible in some cases) to do yourself.

    Good luck dealing with these things, because I know firsthand how difficult it can be. And I’m glad writing this brought you some release from the tension; that’s important too.



  2. You are doing all you can, and you will never be alone. The people who love you do so unconditionally, for all you are, including your anxiety. They want to see you through it because you are a wonderful person, who just knows fear better than anyone would want. Because of knowing fear so well, you can help others through theirs. You can help them find their strength because you know how much it means to feel strong, and to have others to help you get there.

    You have so much to give, and you already are giving so much. You reminded me with this letter that I am fighting and should feel proud of myself. I just wanted to let you know, so I hope it helps a little bit, and I hope you can find all you need in your life to keep pushing through to feeling safe and happy.


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