Anxiety's a fickle creature

We all talk about anxiety and know it and feel it and contemplate it.

I get so frustrated how quickly it sneaks up on my consciousness and taps its little fingers on the windowpane of my mind.

So confused why its sudden on a razor sharp edge tension teeters me so closely to the oblivion it promises I am accelerating so quickly towards yet does not exist.

Anxiety bubbles up like a silent cancer, the victims of it as much afraid of that by which they create it as the things which it creates a fear of.

I am as much afraid of my hopes and dreams never coming to fruition as I am that those hopes and dreams are rested too precariously upon a mind which, as often as not, convinces itself those hopes are futile, weak, in jeopardy.

I am as much afraid of being alone as I am afraid that my fear of being alone is completely unjustified and constructed by chemicals gone awry.

I am as much afraid that love is false as I am that my believing in it's falsity has always been what makes it so.

Anxiety's a strange and fickly creature, prone to secrecy and quickness of heartbeat. A wishbone sudden snap crackling which shatters that which is not broken and calls attention to the lack of brokenness as proof positive you must be afraid it shall soon become so.

Sudden and all encompassing intensity of that simple 'wrongness' of simply existing in the moment is the epitome of anxiety. Conviction something terribly horrible is happening right now.

I am as much afraid that something is wrong as I am that my feeling of something being wrong is simply an illusion I am too crazy to stop believing.

But I do catch myself as I push myself over the edge.

Anxiety's a fickle creature, one moment quiet and withdrawn the next fullthrottlescreamingbloodymurderintoyoureyelids aggressive.

I wait. Wondering which right is wrong and how wrong it is to feel okay.

I catch myself as I watch myself falling and ask myself why I am like this-- 'what is wrong with me?' has been a mantra I am as of late consciously trying to say less.

Because nothing is wrong.

I am anxious that in asserting this anxiety will rear its insidious little head to remind me of all the reasons something IS WRONG, IS NOT OKAY.

But I accept it. I listen now, instead of trying to escape from something that just needs to be seen and heard to know it can go away for a while.

Anxiety's a fickle creature.

So I'll become its friend and observer, not a passive bystander being acted upon by it.

I am becoming too strong in myself and my higher consciousness (or something like that) to continue to be usurped by a little mean monster like anxiety who really, is just trying to tell me something I already know but is afraid to say it and scared I won't be able to handle it.

'Come here, tell me your story and I will listen but I might not agree and I probably won't act upon your words' I say to those emotions which used to paralyze destroy and cause me self-doubt up the ass crack.

Come here you silly little things, sit a while, tell me what you are so afraid of.

Come here so I can remind you who knows what's right.

So I can remind you that I'm much stronger than we've always been afraid I wasn't.

But even then,

I find I am as afraid to be right as they are profess I am, sometimes convincingly so

that I am wrong.