Journaled Volume Eight | Page 16

An open letter

Dear Anxiety,

I usually don't address you at all. I let you do your own thing, torment me and until I crumble, but something has got to give.

You rule my life through terror and enough is enough. Sure you have good points on things I should be afraid of. Like "What if no one actually likes this?" Or "What are they really saying behind my back?"

But come on man. Do you know that I live like a mole person because of you. I freak out over the smallest thing because you have me paranoid.

Sure we aren't rocking in the corner crying but we are avoiding the world, which is just as bad. You can't keep doing this to us.