Anxiety

Anxiety is a meteor shower of what-ifs. It’s a low-grade fear. An edginess, a dread. A cold wind that won’t stop howling. It’s not so much a storm as the certainty that one is coming. Always… coming. Sunny days are just an interlude. You can’t relax. Can’t let your guard down. All peace is temporary, short-term. There’s trouble out there! So you don’t sleep well. You don’t laugh often. You don’t enjoy the sun. You don’t whistle as you walk. You’re part Chicken Little and part Eeyore. The sky is falling, and it’s falling disproportionately on you. Anxiety and fear are cousins but not twins. Fear sees a threat. Anxiety imagines one.