A little prose about anxiety.
It’s like a delicate, oblong baseball-sized rock, frozen in my chest. If someone would just come along and put a bit of pressure on it, it would be fine.
It would crack and release that fluid like when someone pops your back. I would be able to breathe again.
Inhale, trust floods in. Exhale, second guessing pushes out.
My body would let me fall asleep. Months of insomnia and residual tiredness collapsing as my muscles turn from stone to flesh. Melting into my pillow topper, excited to wake again.
Inhale, my heart flutters to a pause, resumes a steady and strong beat. Exhale, my arteries finally release blood to my cold extremities.
My bones would ache to take me to heights and speeds I’ve reached before. My appetite would retreat from too little and too much; a calm, reliable just right returning me to balance. I would mean it when I stretch.
Inhale, I am strong enough to take care of myself. Exhale, I am strong enough to let others help me.
If someone would just crush that knot in my chest.