The Reasons I Am Sorry My Anxiety Makes Me Say I'm Sorry

I am sorry.

These three words are constantly flashing before my eyes, like big florescent lights on a motorway of pain. The traffic lights permanently on red, diversion signs pointing towards the darkness, they’re not letting me go ahead. They’re to be noticed again and again, and they won’t just go away.

I am sorry.

These three words are permanently on the tip of my tongue, and I can’t shake them off. They’re clinging on for dear life, ready to escape my mouth whenever I talk to someone.

I am sorry.

Sometimes I don’t realize I’m allowed to have emotions and I forget I’m human, not an invincible robot, even when you remind me. Yet I continue to say I’m sorry for every time I fall apart or break down, for every time I’m hurting, for when I’m just a broken mess on the ground. I’m sorry that, no matter how many times you try to reassure me, I still feel like a burden and so riddled with anxiety that I continue to say those three words you dread anyway.

I am sorry.

I genuinely apologize for the fact I apologize so profusely, to the point you feel like you should be the one saying sorry. I don’t say those three words to make you feel worse; I say it to protect the “evil” inside of me, the horrible part that constantly acts maliciously, that I haven’t yet learned to control. So, I’m sorry if those three words are ones I can’t let go.

I am sorry.

I have days where my anxiety, depression and anorexia nervosa take turns as they lead their twisted production of my life and so I feel the need to say sorry for not being alright, for dropping my mask, so that I can apologize on their behalf.

I am sorry.

I say it so much when anxiety becomes so suffocating, when I’m certain that no matter how hard I try, I’m constantly doing the wrong thing. I’m sorry for when my apologies appear, to you, to make no logical sense, like when it gets so bad that they replace all the full stops on the end of every sentence. I’m sorry for the need of reassurance that lies underneath those three words, that I need to be heard. I want to know it’s OK, that I’m safe. Because it hurts.

I’m sorry.

I whisper it between breaths whilst breaking down, when my voice is barely even making a sound. Because the feelings don’t come out how I want them to. I can’t formulate the hurt into words to explain it to you. Most of the time, I use the vast vocabulary that exists in my mind as weapons to destroy myself. I haven’t yet learned to use it for anything else. But the words forsake me, they abandon and leave me, the sentences trick me, and I’m left gulping the air that was meant to explain the pain, and I’m just sorry for when depression numbs all else but the burden of my existence, so I feel the need to apologize for all those who have to listen to me.

I am sorry.

I scream it when you question the control I have over my life. When I lash out because my anorexia makes me the complete opposite of fine. I am sorry I struggle to say it to myself, but I find it so easy to tell it to everyone else.

I am sorry.

I test those three words for reasons you can’t even understand. I tell you sorry through clenched teeth as I leave early because I’m overwhelmed by everything crashing around me. I’m sorry I sob it out as I tell you I want to be alone because the memories are out to destroy me. I’m sorry that no amount of hugs or love, or reassurance and hours can take the fear away that constantly appears to overpower me, leaving me feeling the need to apologize so constantly. I’m sorry.

I am sorry.

Not even I can fully understand why I say sorry so much. I can guess a bunch of reasons, but it’s a problem yet to be solved. I don’t mean it to be malicious, horrible or cold, I mean it because I am me, and for that, I will forever be sorry.

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