Anxiety. It’s the one thing that consumes me completely, spits me back out half way and then tugs me back in so I’m drowning in it. And it doesn’t take much for me to start loosing interest in everything and everyone around me, it doesn’t take much for run away to kick up in a loud screeching bang, it doesn’t take much for the irritability to creep up, snapping at anyone who tries to communicate with me. No, I don’t want to talk about it!
It’ll start off before 3rd, when I peek a glance into the Film Studies class and see a missing William. Disappointment , longness, yearning, emptiness, and sorrow follows quickly, but I’ve gotten better at staying cheerful.
Then, if he doesn’t respond to the texts, I start to get panicky around fourth period. Lately, I’ve been able to shove the feeling down. Around sixth I’m starting to become a wreck–Snarf’s silence adds on to it, and suddenly everything is much harder. Seventh I try and sleep it off. Eighth, now I’m full blown stuck in anxiety. I text him again. Twenty minutes–
why
Why what? Why I am worried, Will? Gee, I don’t know!
im sory
And then silence.
Silence. The dreadful painful silence that drifts, hanging over me like a heavy fog. It drives me crazy. For an hour, I’m struggling to try and find normalcy. Every little beep-beep; 1 message received, and I’m begging that its from you. I’m dying for it.
Sorrow and anger clash and for fifteen minutes I’m furious with you, and then it fades, and anxiety is only left.
yeah im fine. im not sleeping anymore im sory.
Relief washes over me, and I cling to the message, desperate for anything.
Why are you sorry? Alright, as long as you’re okay.
mkay
Mkay. I decide to leave it as that. His mkay. Nothing I have to say matters. And the anxiety crashes into sadness. And the ache returns.
Silence drives me crazy. I don’t fear him ignoring me, I don’t fear anything that involves him being angry with me. My mind takes me to the worst place possible. He’s hurt. He’s dying. He’s dead.
But the way he makes it seem like he doesn’t want to talk. It stings. And I still don’t know what’s going on.
I don’t do well with Silence.
I never have. Silence is the one thing that makes everything horrible, silence tells me something is terribly wrong, silence from anyone is the worst thing anyone can possible do to me.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence. The awful silence, the cold goo like silence that clings and clogs the air passages, wrapping around the throat and dragging downward. Silence like the murky water waiting so close by. The silence.
It hurts every part of me.
And it hurts more when the need for silence is implied. mkay.
I’m going to bed and I want to be left alone until I remember how to be happy.
