Anxiety ridden in an anxious century

I inhale, suddenly, more aware that I’m doing so. I focus my brain on the wind tunnel that my own body can create. The air within and around me seems to whisper back  breathe. I am trying everyday, I am trying. It’s difficult to let go of the sticky memories that cloud my brain. I wish that they were the easy kind to clear out, but unfortunately as I get older it seems that the easy ones to clear out are the light and good ones. The ones that you wish you’d remembered to hold on tighter to. The ones that slip from you ten or fifteen years after they’d happened, leaving a hollow space amongst your baggage. You can’t remember what used to fill that void but when you run your finger along your soul you know something is missing. It’s a dip in the surface alluding to something long gone.

The hard memories, the sticky ones, are heavy and burdensome. They are magnetic having been pulled and pried from my brain only to resolve to press themselves ever more tightly to my seams. Those memories I can’t shake; and when I can’t shake them I can’t breathe.

I inhale again reminding myself all the things I need to hear:

It’s in the past.

You are safe. You are alive.

You are here.

Let it go. Breathe. In. Out. In…

But if I could let go…when I really let go I catch of glimpse of someone else. Someone light and free. It’s as if that person is directly in front of me, as if they’d always been but my mind had been too foggy to notice. I see this person and in a brief moment of clarity I realize that this spectacular shining being is me. For one wonderful but succinct moment I had the vision to see who I am capable of being. It is then, however, that the cumbrous thoughts I’ve resiliently carried to this point squeeze back into view and snuff out any light I could possess.

I live for that moment of peace. That one pure, polished moment in my mindseye where I was free.



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