Being over consumed with anxiety is kind of familiar, unsettling, but common. I think most of us, have some event, that makes us stiff and wary. You are, my event.
As if it’s a revelation, I pause my mind and pinpoint on something you said, or never did, and regurgitate it round and round my mind; stabbing myself repeatedly, with its sharp painful edges. It grates on my chest, chokes the air out of my lungs, and does nothing but leave me with an incessant pounding in the head. Thuds, until I squint in darkness.
It really isn’t my business that my ex is on holiday in the same city as me. It shouldn’t upset me that he never told me. It will not matter that he has plans with everyone but me.
But old feelings of the children inside me make me clamour to catch my step, lean my palm against the wall.
The same feeling, about the same event, about 6 months ago has sat like smog around my heart. It doesn’t sting, or pierce or bleed; it just slowly crunches my insides inward, and inward and inward.