I’m Not a Bitch, I Just Have Anxiety.

I’m not a bitch. But sometimes, despite my best efforts, I think I come off as one. A bitch, that is.

I can also be unreadable and emotionally distant. I’ve been known to put up walls so ice cold that it could freeze hell over.

I’m the person who won’t respond to your text messages and phone calls for days. If I see you in public, I might even avoid you.

I’m the person you know who is just always “too busy”, the person who waffles on plans and eventually bails.

It’s not me — it’s my anxiety. Let me explain.

I am unreadable and emotionally distant for your benefit, not mine. Or at least that’s what I tell myself. Because sometimes I feel if I expressed the thoughts I had — if you really knew what I was thinking — you might run.

This behaviour is my sneaky way of beating you to it. I’ll push you away first, thinking I’ve won, and then realize I’m actually quite lonely.

Like many people with anxiety, sometimes all I can do is curl myself up in an emotional ball and protect myself.

Growing up I was taught that vulnerability is weakness. I always find it difficult to express. I’ve been trying but baby, we’re just not there yet.