Anxiety has been my friend for most of my life. It has never left me. It has always been there for me.
It has been a constant companion through thick and thin, through good times, bad times, heartbreak, falling in love, death and grief, birth, marriage, work, career.
It was generous and often introduced me to more friends, like panic, angst, nerves, despair, low self-esteem (with whom I developed a long, lasting relationship), impending sense of doom (not the party animal you would think) and bottomless pit of self-doubt and loathing.
It made me grow, learn new things, and develop new skills like a knack for embarrassing myself in front of people, saying the wrong thing at the very wrong time, mistaking manipulation for love.
Ahhh… where would I be without anxiety. And who would I be? I don’t know, really. And I never will. For anxiety is part of my chemistry, of my heritage and I will certainly fuck someone up and pass it on to one of my kids for sure, because that’s how life works.
I’m weaning myself from my ADHD meds in order to try a new one. Does it show? Can you tell?
I haven’t written a single word in my novel since last week. No short story either. No little flash fiction peace. Nothing. I hope my passion to write comes back soon.
Black Archangel 
Can absolutely relate to this. Anxiety, depression, and other things can be huge obstacles in the creative process. Thanks for the open and honest post.
Thanks for your comment. 🙂