It started the same way as always
A week of “maybe tomorrow”
Followed by “well, I don’t really need to go”.
Until there was nothing I really needed.
Supermarket visits were left to other people, or late at night when the aisles were empty.
Fortnightly visits to town to get my hyppallergenic moisturiser or craft supplies were put off.
I become restless, I itched
Boredom and bleeding skin from scratching didn’t seem to be anything to worry about.
Exercise, which I always had a difficult relationship, became less likely
The twenty miles a week I cycled dwindled down to one
And that one became a chore.
I found other tasks to do.
Scraping paint off the fireplace surround.
Sleeping for half the day.
Every panic attack made me retreat further into my room.
Until one day leaving my room caused panic.
I should’ve been worried.
But I just stayed there.
I figured, “I’m not the only one struggling.”
I can manage anxiety.
I kept it as a bedfellow.
Because it was easier than the fear of randomly bumping into it at the end of the road.
We’ve been inseperable since.