A/N: So my therapist and I were discussing how my anxiety would physically manifest, if it did. And I knew it would be a male, seeing as most of my anxiety stems from a fear of males and such, but I couldn't figure out who. Then my therapist said she often explains anxiety to her older clients as a demon. And a light went off in my brain.
So here's a short about a physical manifestation of my anxiety.
Anxiety!Demon!Dean (basically)
It's a sudden movement when I wake up, my eyes shooting open and my heart beating fast. I take a moment to inhale deeply and exhale slowly, trying to steady my already ragged breathing.
"Oh, my bad," I hear a voice say. "I must've been talkin' in my sleep. Did it disturb you?"
I instantly want to close my eyes and go right back to sleep. He's here already. I've barely been awake for five minutes.
"Go away, Dean," I mumble into my blanket, letting my eyes close.
Dean, my infamous manifestation of my anxiety, rolls over in bed next to me. "Aw, come on now. I was just tryin' to have some fun."
"Well your fun isn't fun to me," I deadpan, opening my eyes with a sigh. I throw the covers off my legs and sit up in bed, turning my body around to dangle my legs over the side.
I feel a soothing hand on my back, causing my shoulders to slump. Not again.
"Come on," He whispers, his fingers slowly ghosting over my shoulder blades. "Lay back down."
I glance to the side at my clock. I can't lay back down. If I lay back down then I'll fall asleep, and then I'll really be late to school. I have to get up. I can't be late again.
"No," I tell him, shaking my head as I stand from my bed.
I walk over to my closet, grabbing my favorite sweatshirt. I put it on over a sports bra, and then slide on my most comfortable pair of jeans. I only let my eyes fall over Dean once. He's not wearing a shirt, and his hair is perfect despite having slept on it. He looks too inviting.
"You should really just lay back down," He states casually, sighing softly at the end. He's propped himself up on one elbow now, his sleepy eyes tempting me as I brush my hair in front of my mirror.
"Why?" I question quietly, which I know is a terrible idea.
A wicked grin spreads across his lips, but then fades into a falsely sympathetic smirk. "You could crash your car on the way there, and I can't stop that. I'd be crushed if somethin' happened t'you."
I pull my hair back into a pony tail, my eyes warily looking at Dean's through the mirror. I have to go to school.
"Okay," I pause, turning around to face him with my hands on my hips. I have to stand up to him at some point. "But the chances of that happening are low. I am a cautious driver--"
"But not everyone is," He states pointedly. "Someone could be not payin' attention, swerve into your lane, and then you'd collide, and you'd die."
My lips pout as I exhale loudly. "I'm pretty sure the chances for that are still low."
"Or just high enough," He counters, raising his eyebrows as if it made more of a point.
I glare at him tiredly. I need breakfast.
Before he has a chance to say anything else, I leave the room and head toward the kitchen.
I pour myself a bowl of cereal, sitting down at the kitchen table to eat. It takes a few minutes before Dean wanders out, hopping onto the counter. He lights a cigarette within seconds, exhaling the smoke dramatically.
