Embodying Anxiety

The devil resides in the mind of the noble, the innocent, in all.. It casts a protective shadow: engulfs you in all that cannot be felt But should be felt so you can live the true essence of a human being Why is it called a human being? Being human is being vulnerable, accepting towards yourself and others Being human is recognising that it is okay to feel hurt as a result of how you got there. Feeling hurt translates into an unavoidable tangible response but that can also be internalised and suppressed as a hyposensitive Patching a layer of fabric on a rusty barbed wire cannot be comprehended in terms of functionality and purpose It merely shows how incongruent it is to repress a feeling Particularly negative ones that have a domino effect in all bodily functions

The heart rate rises

So much that it is racing against your breath

A shallow breath with a coarse exhale

A rasp like texture that emanates a sinking feeling in the chest

Similar to a heartache, fresh after a break-up

A swirl settles around the heart space

From there, the intensity of the pain dwindles from the centre point to the surrounding organs

The belly convulses

Toes curl and uncurl sporadically

The arms are branches of the heart and they sync into a chorus of heavy-duty vibrations

Coursing up until the fingertips

Feeling the need to grab onto any surface

Clasping the hands in an anomalous way so it becomes a pain mediator

As pain is felt and released through the limbs, the heart rate appeases itself

Through this series of events, it is now clear that that pain: Latent, Profound Bringing baggage in and affecting one’s behaviour and way of thinking was never worth holding onto

It was a defense mechanism: a wall built up not to feel The inability to grieve and hence love again

My anxiety resides at the end of a shabby corridor and approaches with a Cheshire smile.

She comes without any invitation and overstays her welcome.

My anxiety prods onto me the last minute I am about to drop into a sweet slumber.

Wide-eyed, she greets me and sits behind those twin orbs, wielding them as joysticks.

And, she begins using the body for a spectacle of the debacle.

Dressed in an oversized t-shirt, she does not care if I stay or check out.

My anxiety enjoys a rich black coffee every morning to match the bitter inner-dialogue.

She represents a culmination of all the self-implemented roadblocks at the sacrifice of being and acting ‘normal’, which is still questioned.

Sometimes at night, she looms around the bed so we can play in dreamland. I still don’t understand who is chasing who but it is my first co-dependent relationship.

My anxiety would reach out for help but I have not been present with her myself.

So this time, I acknowledged her and sat with her to feel it through and be present.

I asked her...

So I stayed…

Underneath this oversized shirt, she is garbed in a corset, suffocating in silence

And together we got rid of that smothering trapping that was wearing her down

My anxiety toys with me because, in dire times, her playfulness is her coping mechanism.

She plays hide and seek through physical discomfort:

The tightness in the throat ensues a loss of voice

The contractions in the chest

The quivering of the shoulders

The tremors of the hand

The need to gnaw to feel

The intermittent ringing in the ears

That eerie blank stare, piercing at nothing and seeing past through all

Any cohesive mental introspection goes into a downward spiral:

It adds doubts to the mind

It clouds all judgements

It analyses the heart

It fawns in front of men

It shies away from encounter

It feels ashamed when met with constructive criticism

It misinterprets all...

When the adult gets to a place that is manipulative or feels brash, anxiety stems from the solar plexus area. That narrative arises from a place of inadequacy: a deficiency that says “I do not have what it takes".

So I asked why...

My anxiety resides in the odd corners of a library where meaningful books are on the to-do list but their mere presence gives you a sense of hollow pride

My anxiety ooggles distastefully at hypocrisy unfolding in front of her

She is put on a pedestal to be shown off but never made to feel neither considered nor valued

My anxiety does not like vulnerability because it means she needs to take her superficial glorified gown off

My anxiety feeds on fears of abandonment, rejection, loneliness

My anxiety has found solace in engaging in mind-numbing scrolling, pursuing fake highs, senseless physical intimacy

So I ask her what are you after, Anxiety?

What do you seek, Anxiety?

So, she whispered her needs

She would like to be considered so that:

She is seen

She is heard

She is allowed to express

She is soothed

She is able to seek safety within the self

She is accepted

She is held

Befriending anxiety has shaped into a foreboding sentiment of checking in.

The sensory fest ceases as feeling and behaving is one

It is a work in progress and both of us are walking each other home, in baby steps...