Dear Anxiety


Dear Anxiety,

You suck. If I could meet you I would tell you that. I would tell you that I hate you with a passion. I would tell you that you should be ashamed of what you do to people. You make us anxious about being anxious. It’s the dumbest thing. Anxiety, if I could talk to you, I’d tell you to stop making us fear everything and jump to the worst possible conclusions.

Dear Anxiety, please stop crowding the halls in high schools and spreading like a cancer among our youth. Please stop telling children, teens, and adults alike that they cannot do it. You shape their lives, you know. You make what should be easy and enjoyable for some, a total nightmare for others. You make day-to-day activities obstacles, normal interactions difficult. You send our stomachs on strikes, our hearts on races. You rob us of our oxygen. You take every little possibility and negative outcome our brains can concoct, and ignite them, spread them like a forest fire.

Dear Anxiety, I keep saying that I would tell you all these things if I could meet you because it is true. You are real and alive. If you want to fret about fretting far, far away from all of us, be my guest. As for me, I’m going to start living.