(Disclaimer: If you are here to read about business or dolls this post is not for you. I have wanted to express the feelings I have when I am experiencing anxiety and usually it comes out in a dark way. But anxiety is a dark place. I want my blog to be a place where I can express all the good and bad in my life. Right now I'm going through a rough patch and this is what it's like...)
There is a small spider crawling over soft hills of cotton. Suddenly the terrain changes. Skin is warmer, but damper. The spider stops, presumably thinking. Sensing nothing he sputters on like a fox darting through the woods. At night, less things are moving.
The clock laughs herself awake at 4 am. She looks around for someone to play with. Her frustration with her own loneliness makes her angry. Eventually she kicks me in the stomach and I come up sucking for air. I worry that the fan in the room is not creating air but instead consuming it. Regular breathing returns slowly. The dreams, which are always nightmares, dance around the room joining the clock in an early morning party. She is satiated by the excitement.
I lay there with my eyes clenched tight. Waves of nausea roll from the back of my neck down my spine. My stomach twists and turns. Cold chills bring my skin to attention. I am Jack's cold sweat. I am Jack's broken heart. The clock is laughing and twirling as I lay there until the alarm goes off.
Later I peer at myself in the toothpaste speckled mirror. Two bites side-by-side stare back at me under the shadow of my eye. A fight has broken out in the bedroom. The bed is lonely and is asserting her feelings to the clock, but the clock always wins I think with a sigh, so I turn on the water and wait for it to heat up.
Sleeping is like drinking. I crave it most of the day, I long for any relief, but the hangover is unbearable. It solves nothing. It takes nothing away for long and eventually it just makes everything worse. Deep breathing feels like walking on hot lava that stretches out as far as the eye can see. Music only reminds me of this or that so it is better to wait in frozen silence.
In the kitchen the food is casting menacing shadows on the counters and in the cupboards. The bananas are only lifelike models made from styrofoam and painted yellow. I chew the styrofoam like an uninterested cow that has all day to graze the field. I haven't forgotten I need to eat, but it's almost impossible when everything tastes like paper or metal.
She is telling me about her latest exploits and plans. I'm responding appropriately, albeit truly uninterested. Tears well up in my eyes for no reason. I mean I wasn't thinking anything. I was listening to her. Embarrassed I look at the sky and hope they are burned away by the sun. No one seems to notice.
The clock is pleasant during the day, keeping mostly to herself. While at night she likes to roar with laughter and seethe with longing, during the day she only likes to lay quietly, each hour swinging by like a lazy hammock on a slow summer day.
Just the thought of my Mom makes me cry. She is in pain when she looks at me. I don't feel guilty. I don't feel anything that I can name. The reasons are separated from the emotions, severed as an umbilical cord. Everything is louder than it should be. Everything looks very far away.
At night I both long for sleep and dread it. I lay with my eyes clenched shut. I wish I could think of something that would soothe me. I poke at thoughts in my mind looking for a viable one to focus on. Anything to keep my fears manageable. My happy place drifts away no matter my determined concentration. Thoughts rise and fall like waves between peace and terror. Peace and terror. Peace and terror. I am always sailing towards the relief that is bobbing calmly on the horizon. I can see it in the distance but I know it is a long long way away....