Webs of Worry: What Anxiety Feels Like
This poem wrote me this afternoon. I’m off sick, physically ill. A cold I caught from my child’s daycare for sure. This afternoon I drank a coffee. The caffeine inspired me but the lack of energy stalled me. The result of that build up is below, anxiety pumping through my veins but the pencil moving slowly. If you can relate to this poem, I’m sorry, but there is hope. Stick around for more tips and tricks to keep mental illness away. The spider sketch is from many moons again. I was scared and trying to process my fear, it helped.
A Symphony of Silent Screams
Overpopulating in the pit of my belly.
Fueled by my own
Synapses.
Spiders on tippy toes
Ugly and black, soft in their step
tingling up my windpipe.
Reaching my throat now and
My own hand betrays me.
Gripping tightly to what will be
And waiting for
The big show.
The lights are too bright,
My retinas burn a fiery blue.
The main event won’t perform
conditions must-be-perfect. The rider needs another white t-shirt and a bottle of expensive vodka.
Not to drink. To have.
To wait.
I hold my throat ever so tightly.
Restricting air flow as millions of eight- legged insects
Triumph like soldiers.
Forcing through my esophagus.
Mouth closed. I taste the silk webbing, it stops me from swallowing.
Knuckles clenched. Dirt under the nail of my index finger planting infection for later.
Iced limbs and frozen face.
I wait.
Anxiety
Is me.
Whatever my next move,
It will be my last.
Perhaps slugs will be more soothing.
Decomposing this flesh back into the earth.
By Sarah Furey
How does this poem feel for you? Anxiety is so personal…yet relatable. Let me know what you think, in the comments.
