Screwed.

Some people don’t trust

the IRS

or

their next door neighbor

or

their significant other.

I don’t trust

my body.

I wait in earnest, each day, for it to fail me.

Holding my breathe in anticipation,

a flicker of pain,

a persistent twitch,

an unwelcome jolt of Something Is Wrong

I notice. 

Each. and Every. One.

Waking in the morning

pleasantly surprised  I’ve made it through the night.

Going to bed each night

apprehensive I may not make it till morning.

My heart pounds as I ride another wave of fear, trying to fold myself into it’s rising crest, knowing that if I struggle and fight back, the odds of drowning are greater.

I cannot

will not

let you see

my misery

So I stand upright, laugh at your jokes, make solid eye contact

while the world blurs and I wonder if 911 would get here in time

in case $%*! hit the fan.

And then, an almost euphoric calmness; the wave collapses over me and I am an exhausted mess.

Thrilled to have made it out alive again.

Terrified of the next time.

A world that continues to shrink

while I watch from behind the glass

of a car I cannot drive past 60

Indebted to a

patient husband

running out of excuses

for my

ignorant kids

daydreaming about

flights and late nights

wrapped in freedom

instead of fear

tired of

apologizing

for

cancelled plans

 

anxiety means

 

I’m screwed.

 

 

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