Conversations with my anxiety

Sometimes I find it a bit hard to explain what anxiety does to a usually rational person’s brain. The best way to characterise my anxiety is to play out some conversations that it has with my brain. At first I didn’t want to personify anxiety, because that would give it form, a personality and even make it seem cute. I assure you, it isn’t, but this is the only way I feel able to express how it interacts with my own sense of reason.

In the gym:

Anxiety: Those men are staring at you. Why didn’t you wear makeup? You look like a spotty little boy. All the other girls in here are toned and pretty.

Me: I don’t need makeup on to exercise. The men aren’t staring at me because I look gross.

Anxiety: You’re right. They’re staring at you because you’re lifting those weights wrong and you don’t have a clue what you’re doing.


On a run:

Anxiety: Don’t stop running. Everyone will think you’re fat and lazy and can’t hack it.

Me: I’m out for a run, I’m hardly lazy or fat.

Anxiety: Tell that to your knees.

On going out:

Me: I want to go out

Anxiety: But you have a gross spot and you’ve been working out a lot and you don’t look any fitter. People will expect you to look better. Also you haven’t done anything fun lately and you’ll not have anything cool to say.

Me: But I want to go outside and do something fun and social.

Anxiety: Ahh, but then you’ll have to TALK to people.

Me: You’ve got a point there.


On racing:

Anxiety: Why do you even do this? You’re not very good. You did well in a few races because the better people weren’t there. Look, you couldn’t even get over that wall without someone pushing you.

Me: I didn’t ask them to push me; I could have done it myself.

Anxiety: Suuuuuure.


Anxiety: Don’t bother smiling; you always look like a fat turd in a tee shirt in race photos.

Me: I qualified for Worlds.

Anxiety: So did lots of people. You’ll get a shitty result. Who are you anyway?

On the phone:

Me: I should talk to someone.

Anxiety: They probably don’t want to talk to YOU though.

Me: My phone is pinging.

Anxiety: You’re probably in trouble.

Me: It’s an email from my boss.

Anxiety: You’re definitely in trouble.

Me: I have a meeting this week.

Anxiety: He’ll shout at you.

Me: He didn’t shout at me.

Anxiety: That’s because he’s given up on you because you’re shit.

At home:

Me: I have work to do.

Anxiety: Your room is a mess, your bathroom is a mess, your desk is untidy, there’s dust. You can’t work like this.

Me: You’re probably right.

Anxiety: Clean ALL THE THINGS.

Me: But then I’ll be too tired to work.

Anxiety: Not my problem, sweetie.


Me: I love my friends.

Anxiety: They’re all prettier, more fun, and better at everything than you are. You’re the pity friend.

Me: I’ve eaten so healthily lately!

Anxiety: Doesn’t look like it.

All day:

Anxiety: You have no money, you don’t have a job come November and you can’t afford your rent if you have no job. Where will you live?

Me: I’ll find a job.

Anxiety: Pity you can’t get paid for taking naps, huh?


Anxiety: Scratch yourseeeeeeeelf, itchy itchy itchy, pick pick, go onnnnnn.

Me: Okay maybe I’ll scratch a little.


Me: I think I’m doing better now..

CFS: Headache! Nausea! Dizziness! Fatigue! Confusion! IBS! Crushing feeling of sadness!

Anxiety: orly4

Me: I’m so sleepy.



Anxiety: When you post this, everyone will think you’re an attention seeking victim who’s basically just lazy and has nothing wrong with her.

Me: RcqKKbZ


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