Anxiety

My mind has gone to a dark place.
You probably wouldn't notice.
Why would you?
It's a skill I've unwittingly mastered.
To look calm when I'm not.
Like...a quiet ocean which hides the depths below.
Inviting you in.
To drown.
Again.
It came out of nowhere.
I didn't expect it.
Does anyone?
All I was doing was listening to music.
Something I've done a trillion times before.
Something I consider(ed) safe.
A random song.
Then.
An equally random, half-conjured memory.
That memory.
A spark.
Lighting an almighty fuse.
Leading to an "anxiety attack".
That is what people call them.
Their title.
I have others. 
Plenty.
My mind has gone to a dark place.
My mind has turned inward.
My mind has rebuilt its walls.
Whatever name we give to our pain.
It doesn't detract from its power over us.
The inside of my head writhed.
Almost like a cramp.
Though not as painful.
The sensation is the same.
Several layers crushing against one another.
A fist clenched tight.
A mouth devouring itself.
My mind has turned inward.
I am bombarded.
With emotions. 
And questions.
And thoughts.
And ideas.
And fears.
None of which are truly my own.
Unwelcome and crazed delusions my
walls
dark place
anxiety
demon
comes up with:
You will fail.
You will get this wrong. 
You will make people upset.
People will hate you.
No-one likes you anyway.
You can't compare.
They didn't read your message.
They don't care about you.
They don't love you.
They're just lying.
It's over.
You're over.
That.
Endlessly.
Relentlessly.
Mercilessly.
One
bad
wrong
dark
thought.
After another.
And another.
Until your head hurts.
Your blood runs cold.
And you feel alone.
Even in a crowded room.
Looking at others.
Envying their peace.
Hating yourself.
And when you hate yourself.
There's not a lot you can do.
You can avoid things you hate.
Except yourself.

To anyone not a fan of the layout so far, the above style of writing represents an attack - though is not nearly as vicious. Read each line in turn, one immediately after the other, quickly, firing onto the next. You might not even remember the previous one. There isn't time. You just get thrown another. Whether you like it or not.
That is your mind turning against you. Drowning you in thoughts without time to actually think, nor even breathe.

Think of it like a personal demon, squatting in the darkness, watching everything, and remembering all of it. It hoards, keeps and contains your bad memories, your dark ideas, like its own treasure. And when it so chooses, at any time, ready or not, it shall share its treasure with you. It whispers everything you never wish to hear nor even think about. 
Whispering in a familiar voice.
Your voice.

I am getting better, in recent weeks, though with relapses - I suffered one just today, in fact, hence my arrival here. I'm getting better at convincing the demon, and so myself. I'm getting stronger, which means I can come up with better arguments.
Your friends are ignoring you.
Well they're probably busy - we all are.
They hate you.
After all the times we've spent together, I doubt that.
They can't stand you.
Last time we met up, they said they had a great time.
They were lying.

^ That one is harder to fight. You can convince your demon of almost everything, but you cannot absolutely know whether or not someone else has lied.
Sorry. That's just an unfortunate fact.
The demon will insist that they did lie.
They must have done; why else would they pay attention to someone as awful, as pathetic, and as downright worthless as you. Someone undeserving of love, undeserving of everything, except loneliness, and isolation.

(Yes, these are personal examples. To those who know me, I apologise for any upset/worry caused. I am alright, though. Just read on...)

However. This is becoming less of a one-sided game. Whenever my demon plays the Lying Card, I like to play my own hand back:
They were lying.
And so are you.

I can fight back, always will, but that doesn't stop the attacks happening - like an opposing force that won't take the hint, won't stop until I'm defeated.
I lose time and concentration. While the barrage of dark thoughts comes, and while I fight back, focusing on anything becomes nigh impossible. I cannot truly see the book in front of me, and any lines I do read can't land, there's too much activity going on within. Nothing can continue until I calm down again, until I convince the demon its wrong, to shut up, and to leave me alone.
I wouldn't go quite as far to say that anxiety ruins my life. From what I understand others suffer far worse than I do - some struggle to make it out the other side, like I can - but it still makes its impact.
It can affect my job - as it has today - and it can affect my relaxation time in the evenings.
It is as unwelcome as the thoughts it creates.

On the up side, and yes there is an upside, I came to realise something just the other day. While I may think these things, I do not believe them. I have that inner strength to tell the difference between a dark thought and a personal belief.
I may think myself a bad writer, but I do not believe it.
I may think my relationship will end, but I do not believe it.
I may think I am worthless, but I do not believe it.

This made me consider the difference between childhood, and adulthood, and thus brings me to the conclusive point of this post. When we're scared as children, we get told: "the monsters aren't real." We do our best to stop believing in them.
Then, we get older, we see the world for how it truly is, and we learn something new. Something worse:

There's nothing in my cupboard.

There's nothing under the bed.

But the monsters are there.

They're just in my head.

 

The monsters aren't teeth, claws, eyes, and fright.

They're no longer what goes bumps in the night.

They're unwelcome thoughts.

My darkness defined.

They're building their walls.

Inside my mind.
 

Our monsters aren't in nightmares anymore, they're not lurking in basements or dark school corridors. They're the demons in our minds.

But remember, boys and girls, ladies and gentlemen.
No matter what age you are:
The monsters aren't real.

They may take over my head, from time to time.
But as long as I don't believe them.
They can't hurt me.

- Robert

PS. On a final note, I don't write this as a cry for help, nor plea for attention. I write this because it's my truth, and because it always helps me to write when I'm troubled.
And maybe, maybe, my doing so will help someone else.

We can conquer demons together.