I’m sorry for what my nervousness makes me do. And I need you to know that it’s not me, it’s my nervousness. It’s not me, it’s the chemical imbalance in my mind. It’s not who I’m totally, it’s only a piece of me.
Anxiety makes me discuss too quick or under no circumstances. It makes me keep up too late and toss and switch till it’s three am and my thoughts continues to be working a marathon. Anxiety makes me have darkish circles beneath my eyes that not even a $30 greenback concealer can fight them. It makes my eyes burn within the morning when I’m wanting up on the solar attempting to shake away the exhaustion. It makes me fucking drained.
I’m sorry for what my nervousness makes me do. And that you must know that it’s not me. It’s not who I’m or who I need to be. It’s nervousness.
Anxiety makes me need to go nonstop. It makes me gogogo till I run out of steam. Anxiety makes me break again and again. It makes me say issues I shouldn’t say. It makes me spill secrets and techniques that shouldn’t have been shared to be. It makes me discuss behind folks’s again, hissing at another person’s persona, simply to really feel a bit extra alive.
Anxiety turns me into somebody I don’t need to be.
Anxiety makes me lose mates. It makes me paranoid that noone really loves me. It makes me cancel on dates as a result of I’m afraid of silence. It makes my arms shake for no motive. It makes me suppose I’m going mad.
Anxiety makes me keep inside when the climate is vivid and delightful. It makes me not exit with family and friends even once I actually need to. It makes me take a tablet each single morning, to fight the demons in my thoughts.
Anxiety makes me suppose the worst issues about myself.
It says to me I’m not ok. that I’m not robust sufficient. That I’ll all the time be alone. That I’ll all the time really feel like this. That my mates aren’t actually my true mates. That he by no means beloved me. That I’ll by no means recover from him regardless of how a lot time has handed.
Anxiety turns me right into a darker model of myself. It turns me into an individual who stutters. Who can’t drink an excessive amount of espresso. Who’s afraid of affection. It makes me cancel and re plan. It makes me isolate myself from everybody I like. It makes me drained. It makes it so onerous to breathe when all I need to do is breathe.
Anxiety makes me disguise my arms from folks in order that they don’t see my un manicured fingers. It makes me hate everybody and every little thing. It makes me suppose that there isn’t a level in daylight. That there’s an excessive amount of darkness on the planet to even think about.
So I’m sorry for my nervousness makes me do. I’m sorry for what my nervousness tells me. I’m sorry for canceling. I’m sorry for the drunken texts. I’m sorry for the biting of my fingers till they bleed. I’m sorry for attempting to breathe. I’m sorry for speaking too quick to ensure that my mind to meet up with my ideas.
I’m sorry for considering an excessive amount of. I’m sorry for not with the ability to shut it off. I’m sorry to my mind. I’m sorry it’s important to take care of this.
So that you see, nervousness is at fault. Not me.