I. feel. you.
Living with anxiety isn’t just about getting through the day.
It isn’t about suppressing the endless fears and questions racing through your mind, or numbing the ache of a heart with a beat too rapid.
It is a process of knowing oneself. It is, most of the time, a painfully slow process of feeling. My experience with anxiety (as well as depression) is one of dissonance, of reaching out to pull the familiar version of yourself back into your body, because the pain of rebirth is too steep.
It is debilitating at times, if I am to be honest.
For so long, I have felt strange in my own skin. Too aware of the body I live in, too conscious of the gaze that falls on to it.
For so long, my thoughts have struck me harshly. They set my nerves on fire. “Perhaps,” I would think, “it might be better to feel this than to not feel at all?”
Lately, things have been a bit different. Though this path is not an upward slope. This pain I live with is rooted so deep, perhaps I will never be rid of it.
That is not my goal. My goal is to hear the screaming of my body, to give my thoughts a place to roam, to give the brutal energy that resonates in this fragile body,