But anxiety knew that she kept doors open.
And it wanted a second chance.
Anxiety is a tricky creature. She spent many years telling herself that she would get rid of it if she could; any endeavor to do just that, she did so half-heartedly. It was her oldest friend. It spoke to her when she was lonely. It gave her ideas and curiosities.
But it also made her sick with headaches, spreading throughout her body with symptoms that seemed to be triggered by anxiety's tantrums, of which her old friend threw many; it was still a constant companion that she loved to hate.
In a way, it was her first toxic relationship.
It took her a long time to realize that even people could use her anxiety against her; paying it a due to sink a little bit deeper into her ribs, speak a little more unkindly toward her, make up stories that would spin in her mind for hours.
Anxiety was a thing for hire. An inner mercenary.
And when she realized that, she knew it was time to boldly draw her boundaries with her old inner friend. For a friend who could be hired to sabotage her was no friend at all.
She learned techniques from a therapist to help stop the voice when it started whispering. But she knew that if she lounged too long, with too much unknown floating around, she would hear the whispering, and it could be a slippery slope from there.
Hello.
I've missed you.
No one else would miss you like me because you're not that likable.
Do you know how uninspiring you are?
You don't even know that all of your friends secretly pity you.
Maybe we will die young. That's terrifying, isn't it?
She shook her head against the old voice she still heard ricocheting from years past.
She decided to make a list of what she needed to do, learn, research, and possibly buy. The buying part did tickle her anxiety because, how and with what money? This place needed...
She looked around and her eyes clocked nine things immediately that needed updating, and she was standing at the front desk with a limited view.
She sighed. One step at a time.
But then she heard a sound in the kitchen so she made her way down the hall until her flat caught on an uneven part of the wood floor and she tripped, bracing her hands to catch herself on the door to the kitchen which was actually a two-way swinging door, so not only was she not caught, her momentum pushed her through unexpectedly until she was hurtled through the doorway and dropped onto the tiled floor.
She was a little heap on the ground, shaking off the physical impact to her not-so-young knees and the palms of her hands when she heard the sound again.
A tap tap tap. Her head lifted, and she squinted at the window where the back of a tan wicker loveseat was staged on the screened-in porch. Sitting on the back of the faded floral cushion sat a crow. Or perhaps it was a raven. She wasn't sure she knew the difference.
It tapped twice more, and she pushed herself off the ground, slowly walking toward the window, bending low until she was eye-to-eye with the bird.
It stared at her with glassy black eyes. Her heart was beating slightly harder than usual at this odd encounter. She swayed to the side slowly, and the bird's eyes followed her. She swayed the other way with the same result. It was watching her.
She wondered if it was stuck or worse, had made a nest in there, which would not be surprising since the screen was ripped in places. She may have to look at the list under the stairs. She didn't remember there being a number for someone who could help with pests.
Suddenly, the bird flew off, and she peered out the window, seeing that the crafty creature had pushed the wood-framed screen door to get out.
Her phone dinged, and she pulled it out of her back pocket to see that she had three missed calls from her sister.
What was going on? Her sister never contacted her this much.
She was about to call her back when a text came through.
UnRealational Ronnie: So dinner this week? I was thinking we order in from that Greek place you like
