No one really knows what Anxiety's deal is. But there seems to more than meets the eye.
None of these images are mine.
#3 in Prinxiety-08/11/2019
#1 in Prinxiety-08/12/2019
#1 in Thomas Sanders-11/30/2020
I sit and stare at my painting and then look around at all the other are I have done. That's what occupies my time. I will sometimes paint on my walls, I have an easel and a few canvases stashed away, plus all my sketchbooks. Then I do play some guitar and I sing, but I mainly listen to music.
There's a tug and I hear, "Hey Anxiety." soon after. I pop up in Thomas' living room, ready to be scolded for something.
But instead Thomas says, "Thank you for being so calm."
I tilt my head, "What do you mean?"
"You haven't been pestering me very much and it's been helping me a lot. So I just want to talk about a few things."
"Alright." I anxiously say, rubbing at the sleeve of my jacket.
"So, what have you been doing recently that's been keeping you calm." Thomas asks. I'm shocked at the question, but quickly brush it off.
"I've been listening to music and painting like I always do."
"I didn't know you liked those kind of things."
"Not many do." I smirk.
"That's good to know though."
"Yup. Anything else?"
"Yes! I want you to feel more comfortable with your fellow sides."
I grunt, which gets me a confused look from Thomas. So I explain, "Princey despises me. Logic is always being a nerd. Morality is the only one that slightly excepts and talks to me without being forced. What would you want me to do?"
"Give them some art. Paint a picture, draw something. You could write a song." The man smiles. I groan.
"That's a lot of effort, but it will do. Can I go now?"
"Thank you for trying Anxiety. And yes you may leave."
I salute and sink down to reappear in my room. Then sit down at my desk and pull out one of my sketchbooks and grab a pencil from my pencil cup. Who do I hate the least?
I decide to draw Patton first. Before I start, I plug in my earbuds and turn on my mix playlist, humming to my songs.
I finish the drawing and actually like how it turns out.
(This is the drawing that Virgil did. This is not my art nor image.)
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Next, I rip out the page and write a letter out for the dad with my best handwriting.
"Now I have to take this to Patton." I say to myself, feeling slightly confident. Then I rise and head for my door. I walk out and lock the door then walk to the light blue door. Pulling out my earbuds and pausing the music, I knock begrudgingly on Patton's door.