there are some who will be happy about this
anxiety, stage 1: a big truth disguised as small
things change on a dime, the day is perfect and then there is that moment, that shift, and the day moves somewhere else, the wind isn't so friendly anymore, and i am sitting with anxiety, my lips and tongue gone numb from the shallow breaths i take, and i tell myself to inhale 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . , exhale 1 . . . 2 . . . 3 . . . , and it makes no difference, and i am determined to survive this without my medication but can feel that's a wish full of pretense, and i am angry, angry, angry, so tired of this, so tired of never having a weekend of rest, of never being away from it all, and i play tripeaks on the computer, feeling the numbness move upward, my cheeks and eyes feeling tingly, going dead to the world, and the palms of my hands, i am typing slowly though my mind races. i visit blogs who are cheery and my anger grows, the anxiety sitting on my chest, pushing, pushing, pushing, and i wonder if i will publish this, wonder if you will think this is just written for your sympathy, but it's not, it's not, it's just this stupid anxiety that i live with all the time and lately cannot get way from. there is a note here in front of me, i wrote it the other night, i felt bad then, felt afraid and exhausted and misread something on the computer and i wrote down my misreading, it says crayon trees, and i have kept that silly note below my monitor all week, it seems innocent and childlike, and when i type those words the tears finally come, not a good thing, i never feel better, tears never help, i always feel worse so i fight them, but they always win, they always do, and the numbness is beginning in the soles of my feet, and this is a small episode, oh you should be here for the biggies - no, you shouldn't, they're horrible and then i don't even attempt to get through them without drugs, i thank god for the drugs, i pray for them to work faster than possible. i sit here and sit here and i am aware of the weight of my bracelet, the knot in the sweater tied around my belly, and i am at work, my office doors closed, lily wanting in, then out, and i know exactly how she feels.