I’ve stopped clenching my jaw, but I’m hyperaware of the sharpness of my teeth.
I’ve learned yoga breathing
But I feel silly doing it.
I’ve learned how to fall asleep in a spiral of torment -
How to sit with that hopeless pattering of blood,
That leaves me so cold.
(Anxiety is a sort of fever).
My heartbeat awakens me by rocking my head
Ever so slightly, almost benignly
(Lean into it).
Morning finally comes.
(Proof of progress)
I prod a sore spot on my hip
As the tea water boils.
My mouth is sour,
So breakfast tastes bad.
Between bites, I consider
That all of our human trouble
Is stored between cause and effect
In trying to trace back to beginnings
(anxiety is an afterimage).
That’s why the present always feels like this...
This big squeeze.
I’ve learned how to root down deep in the interim
How to love this constriction
The sheer weight of any given moment.
I’ve learned (and relearned) the ups and downs
light and darkness -
Leaning into the latter.
I’ve become an automaton worthy of the word ‘stable’
A remote term,
A passing existence.
(Epiphany comes when you stop striving).
It’s my first week
let loose from therapy,
And my muted sense of assurance feels so adverse
because she left me with the prognosis
that emptiness was enough.
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