Portrait of an Anxiety Spiral

Court  In Session

It begins in my gut. What was that that bothered me? Shit. Now it’s in my chest but I still can’t remember what I stumbled across or thought about or saw that made me feel left out, forgotten about, less than. I wonder how I have any room for organs at all when my body is so filled with this dark, sickening jelly of insecurity.

Sometimes it creeps on me in my bed before I open my eyes. Other times, I get all the way through my morning routine before it kicks me swiftly in the backs of my knees, taking me down in one feel swoop of desperate confusion.

It always anchors in my self-esteem. I am stupid. I am lazy. I am fat. I am ugly. I am boring. I am annoying. I am obnoxious. I am ruining all our lives. I can not get my shit together. I think it, and then I silently yell at myself for thinking it, and now I’m having a fight with my own inner voice and it’s so loud I have to close my eyes.

And all the while, my daughter is sitting on the couch, asking me over and over if her breakfast is ready, and “Mommy did you forget you were making me breakfast?”

And those pills that just yesterday I was saying I would wean off of are in my hands and down my throat because I will do anything to MAKE IT STOP. Anything. What can I do to make it stop?

I refresh twitter, facebook, instagram…it doesn’t help. The voices of the internet are added to my own, and now I feel more ignored, more desperate, more alone…more embarrassed by the thought of myself than before I reached out for connection.

I close my eyes. I pour the cereal. I make the lunch. I take a deep breath.

In through my nose…1…2…3…4…

Out through my nose…1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…

I sit down to work, ignoring my legs as they shake the table. Facebook…twitter…instagram…

In through my nose. Out through my mouth.

And write.

Feed Me Seymour