If depression is the black dog, can anxiety be a purple one?

I hope so, 'cause I rather like purple.

Anxiety and I have been friends for a number of years. She and I... Well, we've been through stuff together. And now we're closer than ever. 'I don't want to shake hands with anyone at church' (Childhood) 'Maths is too hard, so I'll cry' (beginning highschool), 'My Uni assignment is due in 10minutes and I'm not done' (Well duh?!) 'Being a teacher is SO hard'... THEN...

I got up the duff. I was pregant. I was cookin' me a baby, in that oven.

Suddenly, she left. Anxiety just packed her bags, gave me the finger and she was off. It was like a hormonal cocktail of happiness had been injected into my veins. Even though I was spewing into the bin next to my desk at school, I was so calm. Then, we moved 660km away from employment, family and stability, but I was calm. When our lives were uprooted again, only 4 months later, I was effing calm. (A fair bit fatter, but calm!) One more move, a few days of cooking and clucking about the joint, then this sweet little Bubbin arrived. After a calm and (almost) drug free labour. I fell in love. I fed him, I held him and I adored my husband for helping me create him.

BUT I WAS NOT CALM.

And the she was back! She didn't bring me a gift, or send a postcard. She just scampered in and sat at the end of my hospital bed. Bitch. 

My milk didn't come in. Cry cry. My baby didn't gain weight. Cry cry. And then, my baby got sick and sad and well, CRY CRY CRY.

So, it continued. She followed me with every step, like a close friend should. We're almost a year on and she's here. She's here every day and she won't go away. She is sometimes pretty quiet. But let's face it, she's probably sitting in the corner licking her privates or chewing my favourite pair of shoes. She's there. She's just waiting.

Just a little at a time. She works her way into my day. She makes me breathe a little faster, wondering if the next call I get will be horrible news. Makes me shake a little if I am lying in bed and I hear my baby cough. (HE MUST HAVE THE BLACK LUNG!). Makes me feel that everyone I meet, doesn't actually like me. Confrontation, confrontation, oh I hate you, confrontation! Anxiety? Well, she loves you. She thinks you're great fun! 

The worst part?

She makes it all about me. Everything is about me. Everything is related to my problems, my life, my baby. Anxiety needs to be fed. Cause she's a hungry one. 

For the record. I really like dogs.

It's just this purple one I have a problem with.