Conversations with Mr. Anxiety

I met my old friend on my bed one peaceful night.

He visited me, with his spiky long fingers creeping through my brain.

His bean-shaped body seemed larger.

I asked him how did he get through my strong mind again.
“My tentacles are stronger than before.” He said.

I can feel the blood in my veins flow spasmodically.

The thumping in my chest is imploring to be felt.

“You brought my favorite food,” He murmurs. “Fear.”

I ignore him. I failed. 

He tried to recall those incidents. He succeeded.

The agony was there, tearing my mind apart.

I can’t sleep.

I can’t breathe.

This moment, I bet he’ll win.

His tentacles were truly stronger than ever.

Last time, he said that he’s my friend.

Last time I’m glad he left.

This night, he tries to reunite.

He’s truly the worst friend ever.

“Mr. Anxiety, how can I help you?” I asked unexpectedly.

“You’re a masochist, I like that.” He said, laughing.

“I’m vulnerably no match with you.” I presumed.

“That’s right and good.” He uttered boastfully. “I came here to tell you that I’m weak.”

My second try to ignore him.

I failed again.

“And you’re weak too.” He conveyed.

“I don’t have food for you.” I gave up.

“You have had so many”

He’s right.

“How do you eat? Show me how.”

“As you can feel, my tentacles hold grip on your brain.  They buffet your mind.”

“Then you inflict me your pain, leaving me in torment?”

“No! You did that.”

Now he’s declaring a war.

“I don’t.” I respond with might.

“You do.” He insisted.

“How could you say that? Whenever you’re here, I can feel the pain. I tremble.”

“It’s your choice what to feel.”

I lose.

“Ok. I’m leaving you.” I asserted.

“You can’t.” He asserted too.

“There’s a way.”

“Your way won’t work.”

“At least I’m trying.”

Now it’s a draw.

“You know what, I’m really your friend.” He hypothesized.

“Is there a friend in Pete’s sake who leaves a friend writhing in agony?”
“Look at your world, they’re too numerous to count.”

 “Hypocrite.” I noted. “A friend who brings trouble?”

“We are both created to help each other. I exist to devour your weaknesses so that you can be strong enough to fight me and the world’s bleakest troubles.”

“Now if you’re too feeble, wrestling with the world would be a guessing game. I didn’t inflict you pain. It’s your mind keeping and accepting your suffering. I’m like a storm in the ocean. I’ll leave it to you how your waves will behave.”

“Stop it!” I blurted. “Now tell that to the weak ones. I’m strong enough for you”

“Then why am I here?”

He won again.

“You said you’re weak. How’s that?”

“I swiftly grew stronger. Don’t give me food”

“I don’t have a food!”

“There’s plenty.” He alleged. “There’s dread, luscious and juicy as ever. There’s anger, a smoke-grilled delight. There’s worry, sweet as honey. There’s unbelief and I don’t want to leave.” He said, delighted. "There's rage, as good as orange. Mind that is fickle, sweeter than pickles."

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here for just three hours.” He assured. 

I fainted.

There’s nothing I could do.

Encounters were always not good.

I spent hours just trying to sleep comfortably.

In the morning, my head aches.

I tried to blame the coffee, the tea, my ignorance, friend, the circumstances and even Him.

All wrong. Very wrong.

Now Mr. Anxiety left me. He’s glad and I’m glad.
He vacated, leaving me a lesson learned.

You know what it is?
Never feed him again.