Without warning, she just showed up at my place—without even announcing herself, without even asking for my permission, and without ever paying her share of the rent. Her presence was a burden; you know, the kind of person who’s always negative, who sees the bad in everything, who always imagines the worst, and who blows things out of proportion—even when everything’s going well.
At first, she kept a low profile. She’d come visit me from time to time, but never stayed very long. Over a cup of coffee, I’d manage to make her understand that it was time for her to leave. But then she started showing up at my place more and more often and staying longer and longer. One night, she even invited herself to stay the night. I didn’t know what else to do to get her out of my house. She subtly made herself at home on my couch, with her suitcases. I knew she’d settled in for good now; I felt uneasy—her presence was haunting me. No matter where I was, she’d eventually track me down: in my shower, my bed, my car, my kitchen. EVERYWHERE
Every evening when I came home from work, she was there, comfortably settled in, waiting for me to arrive so she could tell me all the negative things that had happened that day, scare me with her dark thoughts… I hated her. She never shut up! Always there, dwelling on the crap, seeing the worst in everything. Even when I stayed calm, she got under my skin so deeply that I didn’t recognize myself anymore. She managed to bring out the worst in me. Even when everything was going well, she would quietly creep into my little moments of happiness to make me realize that everything would eventually fall apart, that my life was full of problems, and that giving up was just around the corner.
I’d tried everything to get her to leave me. She was tough. The more time passed, the more she suffocated me. Me—the strong woman I’d always been—I was letting her walk all over me with her presence. I was filled with hatred. I was becoming fearful, losing my self-confidence, going crazy. One day, I decided enough was enough. I told her that our relationship was over and that we had to face the facts—we needed to see a therapist together.
That day, a psychologist taught me how to set boundaries and better control you, my dear anxiety. And despite everything, you remain my daily struggle; you’re now a part of me.
ANONYMOUS