The truth of the matter is, when it finally comes down to it my anxiety makes me feel like a monster. Maybe that’s the wrong way of saying it though. My anxiety makes me feel like I’m sharing my body with another person. It feels like this persons constantly bringing up the negatives. Believe it or not, I actually used to be a pretty positive dude before this got so bad.

It’s like this person inside me is making a list of reasons. He’s writing a never ending list of reasons things are wrong. He’s making a list of reasons why no one is ever going to love me. He’s making a list of reasons why I had to spend the first 18 years of my life alone at school. He’s making a list of reasons why I should fear sex and he’s making a list of reasons why everyone would be better off without me.

This isn’t to say that I’m giving up though. I exercise for the majority of everyday, I play music, I write poetry and I even force as many smiles as I can even though it feels like I have a block of ice in my chest. My dad bought me a book that I’m supposed to read. It’s supposed to give me advice on how to beat this thing, but the truth is that makes me feel all the more guilty for having this problem in the first place.