I made a frenemy in me.

I’ve been wanting to write for so long. Every time I make the perfect space for myself- I put my favorite poets around me, a pen, my cutting board on which rests a diary and the perfect song to accompany my mindset for the day (mostly instrumentals). I can feel my fingers begging for me to jot my thoughts on paper because I know how full I’ve been for the past so many years. I know the best therapy for me has always been to write things down because human conversations aren’t my forte. I could write my entire heart out and share it around much more conveniently than sit with someone in a cafe or over the phone and try explaining them the what’s and the how’s of my talk. So, I decide it’s been too long and heavy for my heart, and it’s hence time for some therapy. I arrange my books a little properly, open Leaves of Grass, go through some poems and thinking that I am ready, close it and keep it away. I place my fingers on my laptop’s keyboard-



I stand up and walk away.

It isn’t new; I have been feeling anxious for some time now. I sit scrolling through my phone on various social medias' windows and see everyone being so happy and capable and then stare out my window- what have I achieved? I begin questioning every good quality that I have, everything I could do and accomplish in that time and instead cry or stop everything because I know in my mind that I wouldn’t be able to anyway make a difference even if I tried.

Then one night I stopped.

I stopped crying and questioning my interests and capabilities and started to ask where it is that my actions had to make a difference. I stopped walking away from my books and pens and the bundle of stationary hoarded in my cupboard and wardrobe (imagine that!) which I had piled on because I could always read, write and doodle later; I had important tasks at hand such as questioning myself what difference all of this would make. I sat down and forced myself to pick up the pens and make random things on paper; I tricked myself into reading one chapter each day and I made a deal with myself to write 100 words every two days.

If I were the old me, I would read something that I have written above with the attitude that it were easier than done. I would probably congratulate the person doing all of the things that I was wanting to do and walk away knowing that I could not accomplish any of it so what’s the point, right? On messier days, I might chuckle at the efforts thinking how less this was going to be, not realising that every drop makes a difference in the ocean. You might chuckle too or congratulate me, I don’t a third. Maybe passing the article? Seems fair.

But I love telling stories and this is my story.

It is easier to walk away or chuckle but what makes a difference is to stand and stare.

Stare at your anxiousness which makes you question your credibilities, your interest to try everything new in this world and maybe add another feather to your cap.

Ask yourself one good reason to give up and not try, even if it means starting again.

Do you know how long it took for Leonardo da Vinci to compete the Mona Lisa? 2–3 years. Till this day it has been described as "the best known, the most visited, the most written about, the most sung about, the most parodied work of art in the world” (Lichfield, John (1 April 2005).”The Moving of the Mona Lisa”-The Independent).

This isn’t supposed to be an article that motivates you to "change your life in these 10 steps" or how to "deal with anxieties." I have realised that one could maybe read these articles day in and day out and not feel a thing; I have been stubborn enough to read so many books and articles each day for the past one year and experienced that nothing made a difference. It made nothing tick inside of me. Every time I surrounded myself with positivity, my anxiety came knocking like a faithful friend, gripping me harder than I would have liked it to and stayed for days- I made a frenemy in me.

This piece that I wrote was written for anyone out there who thinks anxieties get the better of us each day, it does.

It is for anyone who thinks that it overpowers you- it does.

This is for the ones who think they’re crazy enough to motivate themselves each day and cry themselves to every night feeling guilty for not having made a difference or achieved the things they wanted to.

This is just put a piece of mind out there, more for me, to tell myself that it is okay.

It is to make myself understand that it absolutely okay to let some time to pass to get back.

To check myself that I wasn’t using my anxiety as any excuse; some days it would be important for me to push myself into doing something.

To play this on loop: It is okay, I’m going to hold you when you fall. Every single time.

Anxiety and depression are an epidemic for my generation. They come disguised as somebody who understands you but eats you up inside every day. It doesn’t leave- it is more life sucking than any parasite. And the funniest thing is that no amounts of faith nor scientific progress is going to solve it. It is subjective and different things work for different people. One thing which, however, I have found to sort of help is expression. Expressing one, in any way possible, makes a difference. Not immediately, start extremely small- make time for a walk, talking to someone, painting, reading, writing, cycling, running- anything but in extremely small quantities. This is done in order to fool your anxiety into believing that you aren’t changing anything, that you aren’t learning to let go off this frenemy; what is being done at the moment is only a meagre trial of sorts. Then increase the time span, the space you give yourself to express. Let it take months, years- your anxiety is nobody but yours and yours alone and so the way you make your way around it or through it would only be something done best by you in a time span that suits your interests best.

Don’t give it the authority to waste you or eat you up. Let it nibble; don’t let it be the last person to finish your morsel. This meal belongs to you. There has never been an ingredient that cannot make a dish great again.

It’s okay to be affected, don’t let it consume you. I have been here too and I’m learning every single day how not to drown and expressing me helps. There has never been a day that my frenemy hasn’t knocked on my door, I now let it stay and stare at it. I leave it in between the pages on my books and smudge it onto my art sheets. We have started creating good pieces together.

I walk to my space and open my laptop, surrounded with Whitman, a water bottle, a pen and my diary. Again. I stare at my screen for five minutes and stay.

I commence typing- "I’ve been wanting to write for so long..."