It always made me feel safe to feel some control or preparedness for what was about to come. That is why me and my best friend would always rewatch our favourite series together for me to feel some sort of control in life. We would always lay down in my bed, snuggle together platonically and talk for hours. We would always talk about our other friends and how they were a bad influence on me and on how I deserve better. He was always the one who suggested to end a friendship or a potential relationship. Just because they will never meet my expectations and will disappoint me over time.

Before I met him, I sorely pledged to my old friends I will never, ever like that sweet talk or any words of affirmation. But his sweet words were like a soothing melody, comforting my restless soul and wrapping me in a warm embrace. I did not ever think I would fall for such words. Having been through the trials of trust and deceit in the past, I had become cautious and guarded, constantly evaluating intentions and parsing through layers of sincerity. However, his words held a genuine tenderness that slowly chipped away at my defences, making me reconsider my scepticism and allowing a flicker of hope to ignite within me. That hope, a precious gift from my best friend, was like a sunbeam through a rainy day. We cried a lot, sometimes from joy, sometimes from sorrow, and it felt like a release of years of pent-up emotions. His presence gave me the courage to explore my inner world and embrace my tears, knowing I was not alone in this emotional journey. In those moments of vulnerability, we found strength, and in our shared tears, a profound understanding and an unbreakable bond emerged.

Looking back on some old days, there were times when my best friend, my closest confidant, seemed to fade away, elusive like a passing breeze. It's peculiar how absence can sometimes bring an unexpected sense of happiness, an almost ironic feeling of being truly alive. During those fleeting moments, the world seemed a bit more vibrant, and I could breathe a little easier.

Yet, even in those seemingly carefree moments, a part of me missed the familiarity of my best friend's presence. It was during these reprieves that a strange sense of derealization would creep in, as if a piece of me was temporarily lost. In a paradoxical way, I longed for the unease, for my best friend had become a constant companion, a silent orchestrator of my thoughts and emotions. Its intermittent absence was a reminder of its perpetual role in my life, a role that, despite its challenges, had become strangely intertwined with my sense of self. In the depths of my being, an inner storm raged. I found myself battling overwhelming emotions that yearned for release, because my best friend seemed distant. The tears would come, sometimes gently, like a soft rain, and other times they would pour down in a torrential downpour. Each tear carried the weight of unspoken words, the ache of longing for that familiar embrace, for the twisted comfort my best friend's presence brought.

In the absence of my constant companion, the ache would manifest in toxic behaviour. The frustration, the confusion, the longing — it all erupted into a turbulent sea of bitterness and anger. Regrettably, in the throes of my own tempest, I lashed out at some of my truest friends, unintentionally causing hurt and heartache. It was a painful realization of the collateral damage that came with this tumultuous friendship, a friendship that had brought me both solace and sorrow. All because my best friend was distant, unable to shield me from the storm within.

My steadfast companion wielded a subtle yet profound influence over me. It whispered apprehensions into the corridors of my mind, threading worry through the fabric of my existence. It altered my perception, painting ordinary situations with hues of fear and doubt, casting a shadow over my everyday existence. In its presence, my heart often raced, echoing the drumbeat of worry, and my breath became shallow, as if the weight of the unknown pressed upon my chest. He shaped my behaviours, nudging me to avoid certain places, people, or situations that triggered its ire. It sowed seeds of doubt in my interactions, making me question the motives and intentions of those around me. It introduced me to the art of overthinking, spiralling into catastrophic scenarios that seemed terrifyingly real within the confines of my imagination. It urged me to seek reassurance, a fleeting balm for the worry that gnawed at my thoughts. Yet, the relief was short-lived, replaced by a never-ending cycle of doubt and uncertainty.

In the tapestry of my existence, one enduring thread remained inseparable, my closest confidant — the enigmatic best friend who went by the name of generalised anxiety disorder. Over time, this friendship had evolved into a complex dance, a bond both resilient and relentless. Anxiety had become a silent assailant, chipping away at my inner peace, draining my vitality, and, in its own peculiar way, affecting the essence of who I was. It was a friendship that had both shaped and shaken me, leaving me to navigate the ruins of my emotional landscape, forever altered by the presence of this steadfast but burdensome companion, and the enduring storm it had unleashed within me.