This anxiety is ultimately a trust issue. As I lay there bawling in my bed, feeling the tightness in my chest and the shortness of breath, I realized: I don’t trust myself very much, do I? Which I guess runs in tandem with a lack of self confidence. So I lay there, writhing, unsure of what to do, my phone clutched in hand, and flooded with self doubt. Hello, stultification. Am I going to do the right thing here? Or am I being impulsive and on the verge of ruining my life again? Why am I my own greatest enemy? Why am I always the person who hurts me the most? Yes, it’s the anxiety. I don’t want to move, I don’t want to leave the house, I don’t want to exist. I want to wither away from a place where I can hurt myself with my own bad decisions, which is something I have been doing over and over again for years. Whatever happened to the survival instinct? Why can’t I tell the future? Do I text him? Should I call him? Or am I staring down the barrel of my own ignominy yet again? Anxiety, because I don’t know how to avoid the pain. I never knew how, which is why I wound up with him in the first place. I was guided by a passion and impulsiveness that was at odds with own basic happiness. I enjoyed hurting myself with him. But now? Now, I’m trying to live, and the mere idea of him is killing me. I have been trying to choose life, but old habits are hard to break, so I shrivel up inside my own anxiety and wait for the worst to come.

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