Tag: anxiety

the us. being in love- an experience by me,

michelleLeave a comment

Raw by Looney plays in the background. 

I think about the fear, the nervousness, and the excitement that we experience. 

A moment, every moment thereafter, the spark and electricity that illuminates and guides us for the rest of our lives. 

It’s the feeling, the part when your chest fills up as your stomach drops, and 

Gravity becomes more of a suggestion than 

–a world-renowned phenomenon. 

It’s staring at an orbiting sky and realizing you are in orbit too. 

And, letting it be.

It’s swimming through clouds, turning to your left, and seeing that face, 

That perfect face, for the first time- on the millionth day.

The eyes that move mountains and make problems disappear 

It’s a smile that ejects me into the stars, 

It’s the beauty mark, the scar, the dimple 

It’s their proof of life. The experience that has a story and is forever a part of them, told to me.

It’s knowing that they trust you with that context.

It’s actualizing the tapestry of their face. Each feature provides a moment for you to exhale–freely.

Suddenly, you have never breathed so deeply, you have never been so… full.

It’s them and their presence that makes you feel so light, like a clover being propelled by breaths of wishes and hopes for good luck 

It’s witnessing while experiencing the good luck and knowing it’s yours and for you alone 

It’s like the sunset that you can only watch 

The first sip of my favourite drink 

That is what the fear, the nervousness, the excitement, feels like.

It’s the crescendo of Japanese Denim by Daniel Caesar before he lullabies us to ease. 

It’s them, it’s you, it’s falling into

the us.

Somewhere, over the rainbow

michelleLeave a comment

I exist in a place before and after the rainbow.

A place where colours do not exist

Darkness is not personified. 

It’s a state of being: 

I am darkness, I exist without light.

I long to be where the colours exist. 

I know that there are people that stay there,

I even know a few that are there, I visit them often. 

But no one seems to know how to be there

They tell me colour is not personified. 

They exist with colour. They have light.

They talk about light and brightness. 

They say that it sometimes exists in excess, I’m not sure if I believe them.

I can’t comprehend how anything good could ever be in excess.

My starvation is blatant,

There is no colour in my eyes, It is clear where I reside.

I walk with my head down, a final attempt not to make it obvious that I am trying to fit into a place I don’t belong.

I hope no one notices 

Eventually, they willingly turn off their lights 

And find comfort in temporary, peaceful solitude 

I remain indifferent. In darkness, my only truth, my state of being. 

about pressure, my unwelcome guest 

michelleLeave a comment

Pressure

Pressure

I can feel every second 

I can see each minute float away

My heart beats, we look at each other. She is tired, she beats all day. 

What’s wrong?

I look around for the problem, I can’t find it. I search for words, there are none.

It feels so dark, but I’m still blinded by flashing lights. This makes no sense. A sharp, high-pitched sound clouds my mind. Who is screaming? 

I think I would know if it was me. Right?

Pressure.

Pressure.

I don’t say stop. I don’t say enough. 

I don’t deserve it. 

I can’t move. I am stuck. 

I am alone. There is no one in here but me. But then again, who else could access my thoughts? Who else could access my mind?

Besides, Pressure. My uninvited guest. My captor. Trapping me inside my mind. 

I can’t smell the roses anymore. I don’t want to.

Pausing is a privilege granted to those who deserve it. Pressure reminds me. Do you deserve it ?– they question me.

Taunting me

Laughing as I beg. I reason I try to escape my solitary confinement.

I look for distractions. I look for short obstacles, I want to keep them happy, I want to be myself. I need to learn what that even looks like. 

Pressure.

It chips pieces of me from myself. Now I walk around feeling exposed, I walk with my head down, my eyes say too much. 

I walk alone, but I’m begging for a shadow. I am begging for a shoulder. 

I do not want to be alone. 

But the only way that you will find people is if you are something and do something. 

This is not enough. You are not enough. 

Pressure is harsh. My wounds are not healing. Excessive friction. Everything is out of sync. 

I am spiraling. While the minutes continue to float away, I circle down the drain. 

Finally, I am free. I think I am. Hours can’t haunt me anymore. Time is finished with me.

But Pressure remains. It becomes the soundtrack of my life, whispering and reminding me. My wounds never heal.

Pressure