March 12th, 2021
Anxiety. Anxiety has me searching for distractions, a way to believe I don’t have these destructions. Neglecting the fact that it doesn’t always come as a physical feeling, but a buzzing in the ear where breathing between words seems impossible. The letter A, analytical. The A finds me as an asshole that repeats analyzations that sting over and over each thing I say, without catching a break… spiraling to the N. Notorious. It’s obvious, my anxiety is a deity that finds me notorious for expecting the worst, planning for the worst, strategizing around the worst, and coming up with scenarios that might save me, but these ideas run and end up as harmful blows instead. Leading to the X. The letter X, Xanax, knowing a doctor may say it’s the easy fix, but I’ve lived that wrath, hating the way it took away all feeling, creating a falsehood of reality; a path neurologically making me a zombie that only found anxiety to come back later on, and stronger than before, with an emphasis brought on by withdrawals I went through… bringing on shakes I couldn’t maintain. No thanks, been there done that. I question the mapping and distance of neurons that connect my words as they play to one another, firing off into close range only to hit another and become seven more. Is this how it works, or am I just wishing for an introduction to my brain. My anxiety is inconsistent on what it decides the stressors are for. One second, its over a silly matter of not being able to choose what shoes to wear, the next I’m piecing together a trauma of the past trying to find the missing parts, but I squirrel off because it becomes too much, and I’m looking out the window mentioning the weather. E, finds me with excitement, where I tell myself that’s what’s going on, another con for hopes that my mind will get confused and I can focus on things I look forward to. This works sometimes but often times things I am excited about come with nerves, so it just ends up belittling me, with the anxiety it serves. T finds me in trouble. Trouble that doubles and doubles into impulsive moves and quick decisions with poor thinking and irrationality I can’t make sense of, but at the time, it makes sense. Or getting angry because I can’t think clearly, I know I’m being ludicrous, but I feel unintelligent so I convince myself I am the worst. Which finds the shame and the shame finds a way to blanket the entirety of my anxiety… spiraling. Because I blame me, when really, I’m not one to blame. These are just thoughts, but I’m convinced they are more than that, and that in itself is a whole other process of several levels inexplainable. Y has me at yield. Just giving in to the feeling, letting it play out as I watch the thoughts cloud over with storms, calming over time as the forms dissolve into compliance with emotion, the strength of the eye that finally concludes all it has been is one big lie. The trying to figure out a why that can’t be found, and the access is finally denied, where anxiety has finally died.