The Senses of Anxiety


If my anxiety could talk, it would snap at you, yelling in an overly irritable tone for no known reason.

If my anxiety could hear, it would cover its ears and tune you out, humming louder than you speak.

If my anxiety smelled, it would smell like when a fire is being snuffed out, low and almost out, but never fully extinguished, waiting for that one spark to reignite it into a full fire.

If my anxiety could feel, it would feel like sandpaper, rough and abrasive.

If my anxiety was a person it would wear black, and it would lurk in the shadows, following me around every single day, stalking my thoughts, my movements, my feelings.

It would pounce when I least expected it. When I’m having lunch with a friend, when I’m driving, reading a story to my children or when I am sitting at my desk at work.

Why would it do all of these things you ask? Because it can. Because I am still learning how to control it. Some days it runs amuck, and my fight or flight instinct is so high it’s all I can do to not run circles around myself screaming inside of my head for it to just stop already. Some days I cannot fight it, I can’t calm down, I can’t let it go. Some days it wins, but one day, I will win.

Until then I wait, and it waits…we wait together and see what’s next.

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Thinkstock photo via SanneBerg

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