Can poetry heal anxiety? Probably not, but we will see.

It strikes at the most interesting times. The pain. The panic. The anxiety.

From curled up with tea and Netflix to pacing and shortness of breath–it happens instantly. At any time.

“Triggers,” they say.

How do you know what makes you anxious when it seems everything can? How can you possibly know what triggers it? At this point, I have it narrowed down to… Oxygen? H20 maybe?

It is at these times of hyperventilation and crippling depression that I lather on my essential oils: pure lavender and some relaxation blends. I honestly do not think they do anything. The only consolation is that for a fraction of a minute, I feel like I have the control to heal my body instead of letting it destroy itself on its own. But it is fleeting. It doesn’t work. Not once the anxiety attack has started. Nothing can stop it or make it feel better. It just has to run its course. So the origin of the anxiety–feeling out of control–manifests itself until complete submission. It is a cruel self-fulfilling prophecy.

screen-shot-2017-02-04-at-10-13-31-pm

At this point in my blog, I like to write some great insight I have learned from my tribulation. Like take five ten second breaths in-through-the-nose-out-through-the-mouth. Rub the “miraculous” lavender oil into your palms and temples. Go for a walk. Pet a dog.

Sometimes it works. And sometimes I sit in complete desperation on an empty blog screen in the hope that writing will help (it is not by the way–not this time).

The unfortunate reality of living with anxiety is that it cannot be magically  healed with a teaspoon of sugar.

But maybe it can with the magic of poetry–something as abstract as the random attacks of anxiety? Let’s find out.

take me

it all flashes back when I see those lights
take one
the sweet tunes of snow patrol
take two 
i can smell it in the closet
take three
the crunching of the autumn leaves
take me

i want another scene

no, i don’t– 
not with you
(oh but i do) 

it’s a new film
so don’t make a mess
but i’m the same actress. 

I don’t think it worked. Unless you define poetry as an attempt to understand–because now I do.

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