I never have the guts to post this kind of stuff when I actually write it.
It all feels too raw and overwhelming. Too threatening.
And if I put it out there for all to see, it could grow and grow and tower over me and take over completely.
Anyway, here’s another piece from a while ago, written between 3am and 4am.
My Anxiety Is Such…
that when I lie on my back, my heart beats against the roof and cracks the plaster on the ceiling.
that my chest is bound so tight, I swallow air in great, almighty heaves of stay alive (aka “mindfulness”).
that thoughts crowd me and rough me up me and yell at me and rush over me like an acid waterfall.
that I fidget and scratch and chew gum and crack my fingers and fidget and fidget some more.
that I jump out of my skin so frequently I never really jump back in.
that my tissue and sinew is permanently electrified with a nervous, vicious, blue lightening. It shoots through my veins and frays my nerve endings.
that it slices my bones lengthwise and carves dozens of tiny little question marks deep into the marrow.
? ? ? ? ? ?
that is pours corrosive acid on my stomach lining and then steps back to watch it sizzle and spit and break down into burning black holes.
that it does not respond to my begging-and-screaming-and-bargaining.
that it will stand beside me tonight and guard me from surrendering to sleep. Sweet, nourishing sleep.
that people mistake strung out for highly strung.
that I don’t wonder if I would be a different person without it, I wonder how different.