A note to Lauren 📝 pt 1.

I know you don’t read letters neither are you a fan of mine. I know Lauren, I know that is it hard for you to bring yourself to read words scribbled together. You often ask me why people do not record podcasts instead. But Lauren, we are built differently and that is exactly why I want to tell you what happened to me in the early days of this year. I know you’d rather listen to my words than read it and I also know you open my letters. I know you read them. I realized when you told me how much I like heavy cutleries but you only have the light ones when I came visiting last year.

There’s something about anger and myself that brings me to write it to you today.

For me, anger is really sharp. It always brings me to tears but it felt worse this time. As though I felt a knife piercing through me. 

I couldn’t breathe and no matter how much I tried to, I felt it hurt more. 

If you must know, I hate to be angry. 

In my head would be a spiral of thoughts on its own, constantly thinking and thinking of what I would do to feel better, of what I would do that I could label as good decisions. 

I know anger is a part of the human nature. I know it is a reactive emotion to something that hurt you. 

But why mine creates anxiety and why it creates panic attacks, I am yet to understand. 

I stood before myself that cold rainy morning and I could feel it. I felt it so much that I was trying so hard to breathe. 

I was trying so hard to catch my breath but I broke into tears. It got me angrier because I wanted to be fine. 

I wanted to stop the panic attacks. I wanted the anxiety that made it seem I may die from anger, to vanish.

“How do I get better at this?” I asked myself

“How do I stop people from constantly making my feelings rise from zero to a hundred?” I continued. Then I sighed in mock relief, because I wasn’t relieved.

Maybe the panic attacks may never leave or the anxiety of dying from an emotion that is part of human nature, yet so terrible. 

Maybe this is who I was made to be. 

But somewhere inside me, I never want to give people or the actions they make, the power to bring me down literally and cry out for my life. 

I may never understand why I’m never given the chance to let my expression make these people realize how dense they are. Or why I am never just given the chance to walk away and ignore. 

I may never understand why but between my sad self, somewhere in my body that is panicking and the body actually panicking, there’s someone who would silently pray everyday that the anxiety ceases and the panic attacks lose me. 

The end.

I hope you read my words and be delighted, Lauren even if it would be an irony to be happy after reading this one. I simply want a chance to show you that I’m good with my words. And for now, I write majorly about myself. 

Be good.

Regards, 

Kaiete.