We connect but sometimes I feel like I am speaking another language.
Maybe it’s my fault.
Maybe it’s “my anxiety.”
My heart races when I wake up in the morning and I grab your arm for support.
You try to tell me it’s going to be fine and I want to believe that, but I know better.
I’ve dealt with this beast before. We’ve talked about it in counseling together.
I know you want to get me.
I understand that you want to understand me.
But you repress your anxiety instead of letting it be what it is: anxiety.
You tell me that you can’t sleep at night.
You say that it hurts your mind.
It’s the racing thoughts, they won’t stop in your brain huh?
Well, I acknowledge them.
I feel them and they overtake me. You should understand. Why don’t you?
I have faith that one day when I tell you what I’m thinking and how I’m feeling that you’ll turn to me and say ” I get it,” or “I’m sorry that must be hard for you.
If you said anything other than “it’s going to be fine,” it would help. Because sometimes it doesn’t feel that way and I want you to get that. If anything just get that.
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