It’s scared, and I know it.

It’s scared, and I know it.

I know it, because I know exactly who it is.

I know it’s tricks, it’s triggers — it’s favorite games.

It’s scared, and I know it.

I know it because it can feel me pulling away. I know it because it’s understanding that I’m figuring it out. I know it because it knows I no longer see it as an integral part of my life.

I know it because it knows I’m starting to call bullshit on what I once thought to be so innately true.

It’s scared, and I know it.

It knows that I’m learning to trust myself again. It knows that I’m learning how to be normal, free — me.

It knows that I’m learning to walk alone — that with or without it—I’m stepping ahead.

It’s scared, and I know it.

It can tell that I’m starting to see it for what it is. That I’m catching it in it’s lies. It sees each time I choose to ignore it and each time I learn a positive coping mechanism to confront and FEEL my emotions rather than cover them up with some form of short-term pleasure and long-term self-destruction to fill the void.

It’s scared, and I know it.

I know it because it tries to bring me back. I know it because it attempts to lure me in with shiny objects time and time again. I know it because it makes promises to me that I, now, know it won’t keep.

It’s scared, and I know it.

It can tell that I’m coming back to it less often. It notices that I’m not as often picking up the phone. It cringes when I say thank you, but I’m good today, and walk away.

It’s scared, and I know it.

Because it should be terrified.

Because the truth is it comes back sometimes. Hell, it awfully and destructively continues to win sometimes.

But it comes back less. Or maybe, I’m slowly discontinuing letting it.

And that’s a win. Each time I realize that I have more good days than bad. That I choose to participate in less than beneficial coping strategies less than I have in a long time. That I have found myself—me, Stasia—the girl I used to be, the girl I was always meant to be—again. That I lose her sometimes, but that I finally know she’s there.

That I’ve uncovered a secret.

It’s scared, and I know it.

I know it because I’ve found someone I used to know.

Me, Stasia—the girl I used to be, the girl I was always meant to be.

My anxiety is scared, and I know it.

Because it should be terrified.

Anastasia Warren