A discomposure, even the definition seems surreal (panic n.- sudden uncontrollable anxiety, often causing wildly unthinking behavior). Like an iron band torqued around my chest. I can breathe enough, but also not enough – to know that something is going wrong. I hate it. I won’t sedate it, I just have to lock things down when it comes. Sometimes more than other times. It’s like having a heart all filled up and at the same time layered with holes that lets everything spill out onto the floor. The more I fill it on the upside, the more it drops out on the downside. Again and again..over and over.
Dark winding arms of anxiety, I’ll always see it that way. Bending, constricting, telling you things in your head that feel like staples and bone. Always trying to foreshadow to you that the worst is on its way, and the weighing of your breath is just too heavy. Being tied to poles with bending hangars, being able to stretch just enough. It’s the giving up, to giving into the backslide, like a backwards dance into the streams of anger’s roar. And sometimes you need that push, that feeling of drowning and you don’t have any more air. That you have to pull your self up to breathe. And for that one short moment, when you forget all the damage on the inside, you find yourself ultimately feeling again, and it’s quiet. And calm. Until you have to fight with it again – not really knowing every time, the next time that you will be able to hold on to anything.
I only know what I know. I always believed to be what I thought was a good person. I can only choose what feels right at the time. I miss a lot. I miss feelings a lot. I drown myself in destructive memories. I pick apart every fight, I pull my own strings, I push my own buttons that open the doors to anxious thoughts. I don’t even know how to unwind the coil anymore. It just gets closer and tighter. I can only be strong so long, until something breaks. I don’t like that rabbit hole. I just don’t get it and I’m so exhausted from the fight.
“…what nobody seems to understand is that love can only be one-sided, that no other love exists, that in any other form it is not love. If it involves less than total giving, it is not love. It is impotent; for the moment it is nothing.” – Andrei Tarkovsky