Trigger warning: This post contains an extensive discussion of anxiety.
Anxiety, my friend. You are the grinding, rusted gears in my mind
Sparks fly as metal clashes with metal. I don’t know why you’re here, only that you are and that I cannot control you, try as I might. I am lost and confused at the reigns, stumbling through the Sahara as you quietly take the reigns from me and try to convince me this was my idea, it was always my idea, why would I want to be in control when you can decide where we go from here and when we stop because I wasn’t never in control with you, was I?
Perhaps you are truly my friend. Perhaps you are my unconscious way of saying stop, slow down. I have too much going on, too much to do and if I do not stop then you will stop me whether I like it or not.
I don’t like you, though.
You are the burning hands pressed against the inside of my chest, charring my carbon flesh. Acid smoke fills my lungs from the inside. I’m drowning. Salt gathers behind behind my tired eyes and
You and I, we will be at peace one day. Not today, but one day.