The Fight

She was stressed. Her anxiety was high and everyone around her could feel it. She brought a pressure to the room that made the wallpaper tense and the lighting fade. Her chest ached and her stomach clenched around a knot of unforgiven history. Everyone’s eyes were on her. She could feel it. They needed her to make a decision.

Waves crashed as she sank away to the depths of her safe place. Time froze as her family carried on in normalcy. Although the stress was high, the love was unconditional. They were going to make it through this, they always did. Letting go of the fight was harder than fighting the fight itself. Toxicity needed to be removed from her life, but nobody can seem to let her let go. In order for her to let go the ones she loved would have to take a loss. But, there is no loss in a fight that is impossible to win. A natural born fighter struggles to give up, but for her it was an obvious choice, she had to let go. She could no longer handle the negativity this fight brought into her life. She needed to be free of it in order to be who she needed to be in this world.

Returning to home, her true safe place, some of the pressure within her was released. The lights grew brighter as she looked at him. He approached her with open arms and bare emotions. She wrapped her arms around him and everything appeared to be perfect. Inside she was spiraling but the tension in the air disappeared the moment he held her close. Everything was going to be okay. He was her home.

Her breathing became clear but her heart was as hard as stone. Her heart has been hard for a long time. Calloused by the fight she has been fighting her entire life. The fight is ending. Soon. It is almost over with. She is ready to leave the past in the past and never look back. It is time for her to live.

Little brown eyes watched as he held her. She looked over his shoulder to see the glowing face of her son. Their son. Her soul thrived off of the love she had for the both of them. He was watching. Watching his father love his mother and his mother love his father. A true blessing. As he held her in the kitchen the little boy danced around their legs. He would never fight the fight his mother had to fight her entire life. He would never meet Hate. She would make sure of it. They would make sure of it.

When she closed her eyes she went to her safe place, where the waves were roaring. He was there, in her safe place. He stood at the edge of the rocky cliff in the sand where the waves kissed the rocks. She opened her eyes and he stared into the eyes of her peace. Nothing could replace this feeling. She was content. As long as she had him, she was okay. She knelt down and swooped up the boy and placed him in between their hearts.

The fight is over. She is living. She is winning.


I Am Anxiety.

The mystery of life will always exist. The world, Earth, our grounds we inhabit. Human beings, we are labeled. Labeled from birth to death. Expectations are the constant weight bearing our conscious mind. It seems we are always fighting. We. The ones suffering with mental illnesses. But the thought, does mental illness exist? Or does experiences in our lives alter the way a person views the world? Mental illness covers a mass of different illness. Some are minor, some major. Anxiety. The restrictive self-made problem everybody seems to suffer with. Everyone we know shows signs of this illness. Even small children. It is viewed and experienced through different symptoms. Suffocating its victims through failed intentions and detoured dreams.

We all reach. Reach for our dreams. We see the success of others and envy their happiness. True happiness. Present happiness is a crutch. It allows us to keep reaching. Simple things. Cauliflower clouds, rainbow sunsets, bare feet, and long showers. Present moment things, distracting things. It all distracts us from the future we fear and an unfulfilling past. When the future is being focused on it causes this anxiety. Am I doing the right thing? Is this how it is supposed to be? Is it the right time to make this choice? Anxiety is “questions”. It questions every. little. thing. Like a four year old discovering the world, anxiety will ask, but the answer is never received.

After time passes, and millions of questions are ignored…the future becomes the present and the questions asked in the past are forgotten and replaced with new questions. It is a never-ending, exhausting cycle created by this “anxiety”. Eventually, one will break. Break under the pressure of the expectations and the questions. But when does this happen? When is enough, enough?

I have yet to find the break down. The break down everyone else talks about. The dark place where addiction, depression, and unfortunately, suicide exists. It is not there for me. Blessed I am, but when will I fall? I’ve been standing, battling this “anxiety” for six years. Some days are dark, yes, I fail to be who I want to be and disappoint those I love. I become bitter, I want nothing but to be alone, which barely exists in my life. I want to escape but I never move. I sit, deep in my thoughts. Usually these thoughts are irrelevant to my life, but I cannot stop. It is not a shut down, it is a restart. On days like this I restart and rediscover my personal peace to stay strong.

I feel stuck. Stuck in this “anxiety”. My feet are glued to the unmotivated days followed by days where I want to change the whole world. It does not control me. It is who I am. Anxiety does not exist. Anxiety is not real. I am anxiety. Everyone experiences “anxiety” differently. Some suffer from panic attacks. I suffer from an upset stomach. Some suffer from shaky, sweaty palms. I suffer from involuntary movements. We are all unique, individual souls. We are trying to find a way in a world that our soul is unfamiliar with. We are growing, this means we question. No, I cannot be in a room full of people. This does not mean I am afraid, it is overwhelming to my spiritual connection of being alone. But why do we label the conformability of a soul with mental illness? Comfortability can mean different things for different people.

Society is the number one distraction away from discovering oneself. It takes away from the idea of being different and unique. It creates these expectations that are imposed on each and every one of us. Money is the key to existing within an operating society. Without money, you have no home, no food, no clothes, and no comfort in existing. Anxiety is: the constant fight of going against the society and becoming who you want to be, not what others want you to be. It is a twisted reality most people never escape. I am trying to escape this reality.

Writing is my reach. I reach for it every day of my life. I’ve been reaching for it ever since I was six years old. Here I am, reaching past this “anxiety” and letting me be me. Anxiety is not real, we are real, you are real, I am real. I am anxiety. You are anxiety. We create our own world, we give and take what we choose to. Let us not forget to give to ourselves and work hard towards our personal happiness. Accept the past and future as inevitabilities and focus on our current actions in the present moment. Presently, I am writing. Choosing to write. Choosing my passion. I am not choosing anxiety.