Anxiety is not cute.

It’s not cute when I get worked up and can’t function properly.

It’s not cute when my mind tells me I don’t deserve to eat because I’ve failed at some menial task.

It’s not cute when I scratch my arm, relishing the raw pulse of my tired, reddened flesh.

It’s not cute when I swerve the car, just a little, thinking about actions I would never consider doing.

It’s not cute when my heart beats up my throat and out of my mouth in desperate, uneasy chokes of breath.

It’s not cute when I sit on the floor in the kitchen, eyes focused on the small bumps in the linoleum tile

Or when I pace the living room back and forth, back and forth, arms tight against my chest, fat tears swelling my entire face.

It’s not cute when I feel my mind sprinting ahead of where I can catch it, beyond coherent thought, into the static haze of uncertain fears and nameless stressors.
Anxiety isn’t cute.

(Written 1 September 2015)

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s