sundays

anxiety feels like...

the last night before everything starts again.

the pick-up station for uncontrollable worry.

the sinking feeling you get when you realize what awaits you in the next seven days.

anxiety feels like...

the exhales, the last amount of breath at the bottom of your chest, exasperation.

that heavy feeling in your gut when you remember to do something that should've been done an hour ago.

anxiety feels like...

driving on a cloudy day, the barometric pressure pushing your temples in so hard your head begins to ache.

like being on the empty and barren road, not able to see anything other than the trees without leaves or the long yellow and white lines on either side that follow you to your destination.

anxiety feels like...

emptiness.

like vultures circling dead areas.

like the last few hours of sanity.

anxiety feels like a sunday.

To: You Fr: Me

I wish I could adopt anxiety,

give it a home. 

So that it no longer lingers

in your racing mind.

So that the sweat

on your palms could dry.

So that I can watch it,

worry about where it is.

That way, you can

let that anticipation go,

stop wondering where it hides,

no longer fear rounding corners.

I wish I could show anxiety compassion,

care for it.

So that it would know love.

So that it would know healthy love,

not abusive love.

So that it would stop beating on you.

I would show it love so that maybe

it could, in turn, show love of its own to you.

I wish I could teach anxiety tenderness.

That way, it could touch you with 

an occasional gentle nervousness,

rather than grabbing you by the neck

and taking the last square inch of air 

out of your lungs.

So that when it crosses your mind, you are finally able

to take deep breaths, to shoo it away with a gentle breeze

rather than starting a tornado of gasps

to try to rid of it.

I would I could tame anxiety.

So that when your mind wanders, you are able

to stop the violent shakes.

So that you could tell it where to "sit" and "stay" 

maybe for just one night,  a few hours even.

Just so you could leave your room, see faces, have fun.

I wish I could help anxiety communicate.

So that you could get a grasp on what exactly 

you're feeling, try to decipher each element

of this violent mental crisis.

That way, when your friends ask why you're so quiet,

you can begin to explain the bottled up emotions,

ready to explode.

Oh, how I wish I could take it all away.