I’m living my life, but I’m not actually living. There’s this relentless feeling of uncertainty, of dread. The constant unease of something being amiss. Even when i should be undoubtedly ecstatic… when something amazing happens. It’s always there. Hindering and dampening every occasion. I’ve forgotten how life was without this never-ending weight of doubt and worry. Nothing can ever be fully enjoyed or appreciated. It’s always there.
Day by day the severity of the devastation it causes deepens, as the corruption increasingly festers away within. My exterior struggling to stay afloat, due to the huge hidden cavaties deep inside, as a result of this persistent torment my brain inflicts upon me.
Anxiety is an insufferable leech. It’s not satisfied until I’m inconsolable, in utter despair. Entirely devestated. It beats me down every single time i dare to defy it. It returns with a vengeance, if i attempt to escape it.
It decieves, and it tricks and deludes. It gives me a glimpse of hope and then snatches it away. It’s relentless, uncompromising. I can’t ever evade it. I just have to surrender and submit.