Ant

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic

I wrote Ant when I was 19, shortly after trying to commit suicide. It is a personification of anxiety into the man Ant. I’m sharing to hopefully help others with their struggle .

“Hello, Ant.  I knew you’d make an unwelcome appearance.  Once you have your sights set on someone, there’s no getting away.  God, have I tried.” I whisper solemnly, my eyes shifting to the ground, focusing on my shoes.  I avoid looking into those intense, black eyes, knowing once they lock onto mine I will be lost for an unknown amount of time.  I can’t afford to look in his eyes.  Not now.  Not ever again.  But I know I will. 

“Why, darling, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were unhappy to see me!” He replies with mock sarcasm, stepping towards me, hand extended to grasp my arm. 

Before his fingers take hold, I move backward mechanically, my eyes flickering toward his only for a second but a second too long.  I freeze, unable to move as he lifts his right eyebrow, piercing me with the sardonic smile I know all too well.  I take a deep breath in and tremors run up and down my spine in increasing numbers.  I feel the wall behind me block my retreat, leaving me nowhere to go.  The blackness in his eyes absorbs my senses. 

“Where do you think you are going, my dear?  Aren’t you going to give your old pal a kiss?” He murmurs stoically, grasping both of my arms with his vice-like grip, squeezing painfully as my eyes open wide in fear.  Before I can respond his powerful mouth consumes mine, sending wave after wave of fire through my core; effectively melting away any amount of resistance I have in me.  He knows he has me cornered, and I know there is no escaping him. 

World meet Anxiety, Ant for short.  Ant is an incredibly powerful, deceptive, intelligent man who happens to be outrageously attractive, seductive, and manipulative.  He has been known to turn proud, determined, independent woman into broken, unsettled, helpless beings in just a few hours of his company.  He feeds off of fear and has neither appetite nor tolerance for compassion or anything associated with compassion.And he has his sights set on me.  Oh, he will tire of me.  He will leave after taking everything from me that I have worked so hard to regain since his last visit, but he will be back.  He always comes back, sooner or later.  And I will let him come.  Whether I want to or not.  He has control and he knows it. 

 I met Anxiety when I was about eleven years old.  At first he seemed harmless, coming and going as he pleased, but never leaving any lasting damage.  That is, until I was fifteen, when he left me bleeding and broken on my bathroom floor, still holding the razor blade he put in my hand.  After that our relationship was more intense and more problematic.  I tried to avoid him, hide from him, and run from him.  Eventually, I tried to kill myself just to be rid of him, but that didn’t work either.  He just came back angry and with a vengeance. 

Now, I expect his company.  I don’t like it but I tolerate it.  It’s all I can do.  I take medication that helps make his visits bearable but I am always uncomfortable when in his presence.  I can never forget what he is capable or what I am capable of when in his hands.  It’s enough to keep me up at night, sweating profusely, tossing and turning, waiting for the night to end, thinking maybe this will be the day he will leave, only to realize he may never leave.  Maybe he has decided to stay for good this time.  I silently pray, “Please God, take him away from me!  What did I do to deserve his attention?  I’ll do anything to be alone and away from him.  Just tell me what I need to do!! Please, help me!!!” 


Submitted: May 03, 2021

© Copyright 2021 Elizzie753. All rights reserved.

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