Tag Archive | anxious

Just write the words and everything is fine – everything is fine.

imageEverything is fine.

It’s good.

In fact, perhaps, just maybe, there’s a possibility things are even great – but I cannot say for certain for my heart, my heart is beating far too fast, so very, very fast. My thoughts are swiftly swirling, swirling, swirling into a vortex, into a void – spinning fast and furious, and then faster, faster still – pulling apart with magnificent, terrifying ease, the finely woven tapestry, the tapestry of * me *. Threads of my reality are fraying, strings and strands and tendrils of  . . . sanity? being swallowed by a nothingness I swear is all too real.

Silly, silly girl. I know. Everything is fine.

Tell it to my heart, it’s beating faster still.

Everything is fine. I must write the words to make them real. Words. Words. Which ones?

The right ones, the right ones of course.

imageWords. I must simply write the words because maybe things are great and I need do nothing more than read them to remind my beating (still too quickly) heart . . . remind my heart to tell me, tell me everything is fine.

Write the words and swallow half a little pill . . . write them, read them, once and then again, and then again once more.

The tempest quells, the words prevail – the words prevail once more.
Everything is fine.

Here we go.

Alrighty friends . . . Please whisper a prayer for safe travels as my son heads off on his first adventure, by himself. I am so proud of him, and nervous. Mostly proud. I remember how anxious I was when he took the city bus for the first time, I may have needed a Xanax when he hopped on the trolley by himself for the first time. Okay, the first several times. Today as he boards the plane, I may need two!

I know he is a man, almost 25 now, but this is monumental. It’s hard to even describe the well of emotions this stirs. I know some of you will relate on a level only a parent with an autistic child can relate, I know you understand the hugeness of what is happening today.

In this moment, I haven’t yet found the words to describe the magnitude of what is taking place, I’m not certain I’ll ever be able to accurately convey the depth of this occasion.

Whisper a prayer for me as well . . .

Anxiety . . .

Anxiety  . . .

Every now and then I try to capture in words what anxiety feels like, I’ve yet to succeed. I hope when I do, it remains trapped, words upon a page I can fold up and be rid off . . . 

Chaos amidst calm.

I try
to understand,
to overcome,
but screams
of silence
no one else
can hear,
echo within me,
surrounding me.
They fill the air,
denying me
breath.

Inside I tremble,
falling to my knees
at the foot of despair,
pleading the silent
cacophony to end.

Afraid to open
my eyes and see
I’ve been seen,
my hidden fears
revealed.

Do they hear the
beating of my heart
racing to the edge
of my false reality,
threatening
to fail?

Do my eyes
reveal my angst?
Can they
see the sweat
glistening upon
my brow?

How can I fear
nothing?

I know
there is
something
to be feared.

I know
there is
nothing
to fear.

Still,
I crumble.

Around me,
normalcy.

Everything
the same.

Nothing
out of place.

Balance
undisturbed,
and yet . . .

It wells up,
flows through veins,
fills the heart,
clouds the mind,
squeezes the soul.

It is nothing,
yet I fear it
and the fear
consumes me.

A fear that has
not name
nor reason.

I find no refuge
until it’s taken
just enough
to leave me
a little more
shattered
than before,
fearing not
the fear itself,
but it’s
return.

Crystal R. Cook