I have to begin to question that choices and thoughts that seem to crawl their way into my mind. Anxiety is my long-lost best worst friend. It seems as though it has set itself back into permanent residence within my chest. Relapse feels just around the corner and I’m not sure how to approach that. Why am I even considering this again as an outlet? I’m aware of the consequences – the repercussions. Nothing good or permanent comes from it apart from the scars. And the judgment. It tempts me in the worst way. My mind tells me that I need to be punished for what I did.