Anxiety Is

Anxiety Is

Anxiety is…

The second hand of a clock,

Ticking faster and faster,

Until it is only a blur.

It is the minute hand,

Racing around the clock face,

As it counts the seconds.

It is the hour hand,

Counting the hours like minutes as they pass.

Anxiety is…

Staring at an empty page,

Begging it to fill in,

It is the irony of seeing the vivid pictures,

Perfectly formed in your own mind,

But the inability to find the right words,

And the fear you will write the wrong ones,

So instead you write nothing.

Anxiety is…

Hearing the same words,

One hundred times.

Then suddenly,

You no longer understand them.

It is the inability to comprehend,

Anything around you.

And the fear you will slip away,

Farther than you already have.

Anxiety is…

Begging someone, anyone,

For help.

It is admitting your deepest, darkest thoughts

To a doctor,

And being told,

You are in it for the drugs.

Anxiety is…

Coloring perfectly inside the lines,

But with a white crayon,

For fear if you use color,

It might bleed.