Last week, my therapist suggested we put a name to my anxiety.

During our conversation, just for an example, she called it "Enid." She said I could change the name. She suggested I give it a name with a more repugnant association.

We named it so I could see illness as an enemy, a separate entity, rather than me.

I cannot think of anyone I hate as much as I hate this part of myself.

Hello, Enid.