Janiah and I often talk about what it’s like to deal with anxiety. Her wonderful essay inspired me to write about my experiences, too.
We go everywhere together, its fingers in mine. We walk into meetings, bars, cramped living rooms. We step out of the house, underdressed, without an umbrella, our keys on the kitchen table. I open my mouth and it speaks. We write and rewrite and erase. I look at a blank page. It says, “You’re back where you started.” I walk a long path toward forgetting, but it remembers. We stay up nights. We sleep in late. We repeat. I take a deep breath. Then another. I tell myself a kinder story. It listens. We find relief.