aNXIETY

BraveWrite, Week 4

September 26th

He sits across from his therapist as she checks off #boxes in her mind. She scribbles notes down from his answers and he bites his lip from asking. He’s new to this. His leg bounces, up and down, anxious for answers. Anxious to be told it’s not in his head.

 

September 27th

The wind kisses the leaves with a playful breeze and dances with fading flowers. Insects buzz in swirls around his ears. Rough bark reaches for skin through thick sweaters but he welcomes its affirming touch. He #listens to nature, sat upon its packed dirt.

 

September 28th

She talked to herself through every task. Rambled and raved. No audience required for the #insane mutterings she came across. She told stories in whispers and shouts. She told stories of the sad and mad. It kept her amused. They called her crazy, but she knew where her marbles were.

 

September 29th

She held the leash loosely in her right hand as her dog marched forward, nose to the ground. Their feet and paws crunched on the #crisp leaves felled by Autumn’s breeze. Her eyes were vigilant for any threats to her dog and thankfully her dog listened when needed.

 

September 30th

The #epoch of her life had been the four years in university. She sat in the back, hiding her mind from classmates and professors. She toyed around on her laptop, unable to focus. Anxiety thrummed in her heartbeat, coaxing her into depressive and manic episodes.

 

October 1st

She stands out like a sore thumb covered in scars, tattoos, and piercings. Surrounded by girls in booty shorts and crop tops, she flashes her middle finger at the cookie cutters. She’s #contrarian and bucks the social norm. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

 

October 2nd

She was without an #anchor in the storm. The ropes that tied her to the docks had long since frayed, rubbed repeatedly between boat and wood. She nose dived under a large wave, its waters threatening to fill her. Alone in the harbour, she wondered how long she’d last.

 

Advertisement

BraveWrite, Week 2

It’s Hump Day, people! The best and worst day of a work week.

I have felt entirely sapped of my energy and I am hoping I can turn it around today. Fingers crossed! I don’t need to sleep in and waste the day away doing nothing which is what yesterday taught me.

My mom came over and helped sand, clean, and put the first coat of Tremclad on our awful metal railings. They look better already after that. However, being productive didn’t quite get me out of this weird mood slump I’ve been in so here’s hoping today’s the day.

Anyways, I hope you are on your way to a wonderful weekend and may my BraveWrites help you out!

 

September 12th

She stared out the car window and watched the rain streak down it. Her mother talked at her, but she didn’t hear the words. Only emptiness.

But she was #encouraged by their want to help and surprised when they confessed their own visits to a psychiatrist. Maybe there was hope.

 

September 13th

She watches as her mother takes another drag. The cigarette’s blue-tinged smoke shimmers in the light and dissipates.

A silent, slow threat.

And she sheds another tear. Greying skin, ragged coughs, the crimson drops that spell the end. She waits for #cancer to claim her mom.

 

September 14th

Video game consoles litter the house, attached to various TVs. She turns on the xbox 360 and plays Assassin’s Creed. Her character scales rough pick, runs across clay tile, and lives.

She envies his freedom though she is the #gamer.

 

September 15th

Her brother pushed her under the water as part of the game. His hand was like steel on her head and she fought to surface. To suck in oxygen once more.

Panic had set in as time slowed. When he finally released her, she was ravenous for air.

Her #umbrage was now rage.

 

September 16th

The #vibration of the nail file on her toes unnerved her and served as a reminder. She was unwelcome here.

She was no pretty girl who wore make-up, fake nails, or got her hail done. She was a tomboy whose hands were filthy and rough.

But she stayed in the salon.

 

September 17th

She stood with her friends and their boyfriends in line, waiting to have her prom ticket checked. It was clutched in a white-knuckled fist as her anxiety took over. Her companions laughed and gasped as they entered the hall.

She suffocated internally on the #pizzazz.

 

September 18th

Her #alacrity had nothing to do with a fear of failure. It had everything to do with her need to prove them wrong. She was tired of the comparisons that ground her spirit into dust. She was tired of fearing whispers and taunting looks. She’d stand strong.

Opinions, Please

I have to ask this of my followers, because I stand unsure of it myself. There are plenty of books and poems out there that deal with sensitive topics. Is there a line we don’t cross when ti comes to this? (This is my trigger warning for this post.)

The reason I ask is, I found a prompt about writing your final thoughts as you fall to your inevitable doom. This prompted me to write about suicide. It is dark and taboo thing to some people, if ’13 Reasons Why’ is any indication.

On Prose, I shared the poem with a trigger warning at the top. As someone who struggles with suicidal thoughts as a result of mental illnesses, I recognize the need for that trigger warning. Most of the time, I am fine to read or watch about such things, but if I am down, it is a recipe for disaster.

So I guess my real question is, how do you decide to share something like that? Should it offer something to somebody?

I feel my poem might offer some insight into how someone thinking about suicide might feel, but I don’t want to trigger anybody either.

Here it is, below. I really am curious as to how people feel writing about these kind of things.

One Regret

 
The wind chilled her to the bone
A welcome hug inviting her to Death.
 
Jumping had seemed the only solution
Nothing else worth living for, left.
 
Images of familiar faces shined in her mind
There were no tears in their eyes.
 
Her body crumpled on the ground
Would hardly draw a single cry.
 
Only one regret lay in her heart
And her body hit the stones.

Absent

Not going to lie, I feel absent from my own life, if that makes any sense. I wake up, go about the day, and yet it feels void of meaning. Hoping tomorrow, this feeling is somehow banished from existence.

In the meantime, I’m helping my mom engrave wine glasses as a bridal shower gift for my future sister-in-law.

[Current energy= restlessness X anxiety X defeated mentality]

Here’s hoping tomorrow is actually a new day where I have motivated energy to do what needs doing.

Looking For An Answer

What I really wanted to ask was,

Do you believe in me?

I know I’ve asked before,

But I feel so empty.

I want this dream so badly.

It stands so far away.

You tell me to keep fighting,

But I only seem to stray.

If I don’t push forward,

There’s only possibilities.

Yet this hole grows more and more,

Fraught with anxieties.

A new excuse, another tale,

To pause my future demise.

I don’t see anything else,

Yet I know I’m telling lies.

So what I really wanted to ask was,

Do you think I will succeed?

Is my dream worth fighting for?

Will you help me, please?