Friends With Benefits

So my anxiety and I have what some people might call a friends with benefits relationship. We have no love for each other, but she still just like fucks with me sometimes, y’know.
We moved in together some years ago. We have inside jokes. Like wen I say: “I’ma go talk to that person over there“, my anxiety looks at me and is like: “Bitch… please.“
My anxiety is the reason I didn’t talk to you. She’s possessive, she doesn’t like me talking to other people. She is irrational.
Because of her I’ll take the long way to my building to avoid someone I already passed by twice, because I don’t know if it’s acceptable to say “Hey“ a third time.
Because of her, I don’t correct people at restaurants who get my order wrong. I just eat it. Because you know, maybe a sweet potato fries are what I wanted but the broccoli you gave me is what I needed, thank you.
Because of her I take the long way to my building to avoid someone who kind of looked like my ex boyfriend. Because whenever I hand her the AUX-cord, she makes sure to play back all the times he told me no one else would ever want me. Because of her, I still think no one else will ever want me.
I constantly wonder what happens to a black girl who was too anxious to ever feel like magic. Can she still fly? Can she still be fly with wings that tremble? Can she forget the lifestyle of an ant, that feeling that no matter what she does she is in danger of being crushed. And my anxiety doesn’t like to be made into metaphors, but what I’m trying to say is, she is constantly reminding me of how easy I am to crush.
As I speak, I am pushing against her weight on my shoulders and that is why I shake. Sometimes I have to fight to stand up straight. Stop rocking. She and I picked out this outfit together; something that dries fast if I am sweating. It is because doing this poem feels like fighting a boxing match that you can’t even see and I am determined to knock her out.
I have been fighting her for control of our house for years. Fighting not to crack.
Stop rocking, don’t shake, breathe.
I think, the reason why my relationships don’t work out is because no one knows they are signing up for a threesome. I understand, and I know how hard it is to live with both of us. When we don’t like feeling out of control. And we don’t handle conflict well. When we don’t handle being yelled at well. When everything you say to us will be repeated and deconstructed and analysed in our head a million times, after. And if I am silent for a while, it is because I have to fight with her before I can fight with you.
I’ve tried to cut her off before. I cannot. We do not handle separation well, because of our parents. I mean, our ex. I mean, our friends – breathe.
So I guess my anxiety and I have just learned to live together. She’s the longest relationship I have ever had and as everyone leaves, she is the only relationship that I can count on.