Living With Anxiety

On some days living with anxiety is quite the literal expression.
It means sharing the same headspace, sometimes to the point where you forget which one of you is the intruder.

On those days the hardest thing to do seems to be to just exist. I force myself to not be on the phone, because anxiety rolls hard off the tongue, but easy off the fingers. I tend to write too much. I usually regret it. So i force myself to not be on the phone.

I drag myself in front of the TV, but there is nothing I want to watch. I stare at the screen, with a wallowing panic in my stomach, although there is nothing to be panicked about.
I eat, and eat, and eat. If my stomach is full, there is less space that anxiety can contaminate.
And I write, not on the phone of course - I learned my lesson. And I guess the most frustrating part of it all is that I cannot write about it. 

Writing about anxiety is like trying to describe the taste of water. 

I'm not scared of anything, on those days I talk to people like I always do, I dress up and go out like I always do. But I do it all with the feeling of being suffocated. Anxiety's hands are on my throat, and they feel as familiar as my own that it becomes hard to identify them as a trap sometimes.

There is a highway in my brain and I am driving on it, the speed limit is 200 kilometers per hour, but I'm going faster than that.
The car doesn't have brakes, it doesn't have a gas pedal either. It just drives.
Anxiety is the car.
I am the passenger that was forced into it.
I am not controlling the car, but there is no way I could jump out, at the speed that it's going.
So tomorrow is another day, but today, 

I just drive.