It starts in her head; thoughts terrorize her.
It reaches capacity, but they won’t stop bombarding her brain.
Navigating her mind is like driving through SF fog before dawn.
Her head aches.
The constant worries, irrational fears, and loss of control
Racing infinitely, there is no finish line.
They echo like surround sound.
Lists after lists after lists
An attempt to regain control of the brain.
A strict play by play of how to get through her day.
Lub dub…lub dub
A drum beating in the background.
It accelerates; 65, 80, 150 bpm.
Not only can you hear this beat, you can see her veins vibrate.
She is sitting there, expending no energy at all
Winded, gasping for air
Mustering the strength to simply: inhale, and exhale.
No, she is not sprinting, she is suffering.
Body numb, frozen in time.
Goosebumps crawl down her limbs like ants
She itches and twitches
Just to feel something again.
Her stomach flutters,
Not in the sweet, lovesick kind of way.
Like there is something trapped inside her gut, banging to get out.
She hasn’t fed it for days, the hunger pains diminish.
Glutes are tense, and neck is stiff
The weight of the world is in her skull.
If you saw her, you wouldn’t know this
Besides the occasional leg tap and finger fidget.
“These feelings are normal”
People empathize with her.
“Anxiety is a natural healthy human experience”
She knows it’s real and begs them to believe her.
She keeps telling herself she is losing control to this crippling condition.
Anxiousness turns to sadness
Hopelessness to anger
She lashes out, but no one will listen. She is a burden.
She’s tried all coping mechanisms
Yet nothing has helped.
Everyday is a waiting game
When will this devil strike again?
When she awakes first thing in the morning,
Or while at work, sitting quietly at her desk?
When she arrives home and faces her family
Or alone, crying herself to sleep.
She closes her eyes
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
Each breath she removes one thought
Exterminates those unnecessary pests.
She places her feet flat on the ground,
To feel the earth beneath her
Piloting her to the present.
She is anchored again.
Each affair is an obstacle.
She has practice asking herself
“What is the worst case scenario?”
She recites a prayer. Can anyone hear her?