I used to run into Anxiety a lot back when I was rushing from place to place. She would always want me to sit down with her and talk, but then refuse to tell me anything much. She once woke me up in the middle of the night, and all I could listen to was the sound of her breathing. I spent a lot of time with her in cafes, until I realized that she was addicted to caffeine and the sound of her own voice.

    Anxiety craves attention. She loves bringing people bad news. At meetings, she used to shut people up when they were about to say something interesting. In a crisis, she would be the loudest voice in the room. She is difficult to ignore, and has always been a poor listener. Until I learnt to step away from her, I never knew the quality of my own voice.

    It's unclear why I ever spent so much time with her. Perhaps I was fascinated by her loneliness, or was in love with her presence. I remember her as always being hungry, constantly gnawing at anything she could lay her hands on. She has grown so large and awkward, that she is afraid to go out and meet people. She might spend hours dressing up, but no matter what she wears, she feels naked in front of others. She has forgotten how to laugh.

    Nowadays she stays mostly indoors, talking to Despair, who is blind. She feels heavy and lethargic, and keeps the curtains drawn so people outside cannot see how gross she has become. Still, even though Anxiety claims to prefer the dark, I know she has a secret pair of wings which she's forgotten how to use. Deep in her heart, what she truly wants is to fly again - if only she could be sure of never falling.

07 April 2002   23:38 hours
purpose { } failure