Anxiety

What if I wrote a poem about my anxiety attacks? I said to myself one day.

The funny thing is, I  actually thought it was a good idea until now.

But, it’s too late and I’ve spent too long pouring over each and every word to make sure it’s as close to perfect as I can manage, so here goes vulnerability. I’ve struggled off and on with Anxiety for about 2 1/2 years now. Change and I aren’t the best of friends (if she’s walking down one sidewalk, I will jaywalk across 6 lanes of traffic to get to the other side so that I don’t have to run into her). Roughly 3 weeks before I graduated colleges in 2013, things started to get messy. Things meaning me. I was a mess. I ate PB&Js for 2 weeks straight (all meals) because I couldn’t force myself to eat anything else. I had a full time job that I adored lined up for the summer, and Graduate School after that, but I just didn’t want to leave the city that became my first home and the friends that loved me like family. That’s when the anxiety attacks came. Over the years, I’ve gone to several counselors (and still am now) that have helped me learn to manage and even stave off the anxiety . It’s been a extremely difficult, but really amazing (just not at the same time). 

This poem obviously reflects the darker side of progress, but as my favorite author Andrew Peterson always says, “it’s always darkest before the dawn.”

Anxiety

I fill these hands to empty my mind.
Weave. Write. Work. Make. Do.
Make do.

But I can’t ignore that I’m waning with each new breath.
How long until I suffocate here on dry land?
How long until my lung refuse to fill?
No, don’t think about that.
Weave.Write. Work. Make. Do.
Make do.

Through the windows, the darkness enters
and I can’t find a match.
I tell myself to keep trying.
I will my hands to move,
to fumble through pattens weaved in this chaos.
trying to make these knots curve right.
My fists wrap tighter and tighter ’round these rods of iron
but I keep finding holes in my work.

War drums beat within my chest,
and I know the enemy is nearing.
It’s inside my own flesh.
I cover my eyes to shield the darkness,
but we all know that’s not how darkness works.
It follows you into your hiding,
so you must learn to fight your way into the light.

So, I uncurl myself from this cocoon
stepping out to take hold of the ancient book
And as my hands grasp hold of it’s pages,
my heart begins to cling to the Word I find within.
My eyes scanning black lines to search for you,
just trying to imagine you there in living color.
I am willing you to come out of these pages-
willing these words to form your very flesh

Like the match that I was missing
You strike yourself against my sole.
Light penetrates my darkness, illuminating your form
I see you.
And this ever growing flame is soaking up the oxygen
but somehow I’m finding it easier to breathe.