Anxiety is a killer. It kills your present and lays waste to your future, cutting a bloody swathe through your plans and hopes. It is a creeping, niggling death of a thousand cuts, nibbling away at the fringes of your confidence and self belief. It is slow, excruciating but it is there from the moment your eyes open until your head hits the pillow at night. It is the vulture on your shoulder, it’s the albatross round your neck. It is here and it is now.
Anxiety is a killer. Like a petulant child it grabs the shiniest treasures in your life and holds them high above its head, gleefully looking you in the eye, before hurling them to the ground, shattering into a thousand pieces at your feet. It is mindless malice, a reckless wrecking ball tearing asunder all you value and cherish. It gives no reason, for it does not have to justify its actions to anyone, least of all you.
It goes where it wishes, unrestrained by convention and protocol. You cannot shackle what you cannot see, you cannot corral a shifting, vacuous mass of nothing that sweeps and swirls throughout your ravaged psyche. It reigns supreme, it rains fire upon what might have been. Engulfing you in its fiery grip, it caresses your skin, blistering and blackening the purity of your essence.
You run, you hide, it matters not for it knows where you go. You are it’s plaything, a pathetic puppet on a series of strings which it cuts one by one to leave you dangling by a solitary strand, a mangled marionette staring into the abyss. It devours you whole, sucking the very marrow from your bones. It becomes your everything, for everywhere you turn it’s there, laughing, pointing, mocking.
There are days it’s barely there, but still you sense it watching from the outer edges of your consciousness. You lick your wounds and gird your loins, hurriedly repairing breached defences with whatever tools are to hand. Desperation focuses the mind like no other emotion. You are driven, bursting momentarily above the surface to suck much needed life into your lungs. Enjoy it while it lasts.
Anxiety is a killer, and sometimes killers like to watch, savouring the moment before swooping for the coup de grace. They like to watch you struggle and squirm, begging for mercy, a reprieve, another chance at life. They nod and smile, like benevolent parents, before you are told to hush. For that is not the way it works. You both know that, but still you try, to find a way to evade its clutches. You try, you fail.
Sleep brings little release for it stalks your dreams, reminding you of how little you mean to anyone, how wretched and worthless your life has become. You awake more tired than when you fell asleep, exhausted and utterly unprepared for the day ahead. You lie there, suffocated by the silence. Within the silence, no one hears your screams. Even those who care to listen, hear nothing but the void.
Anxiety is a killer. It comes knocking when you least expect, a wandering ghoul who travels wherever it so desires. It snuffs out the candle of your soul, enveloping you in its deathly embrace. You breathe deep and are numbed by it’s cathartic, soothing voice. Your heavy eyelids drool and you become still, another notch on its bedpost. You are but one, but we are many. This army of the dead.
Do you suffer from anxiety?
How does it affect your life?