Thursday, 3 April 2014

In an anxious state


No escape from this wretched state. No escape, it seems.

The goddamn anxiety. It starts as you might expect. Shortness of breath in crowded shopping centres. Inability to speak in front of large groups of people. And then it progresses. It peels back further into the mind until one day you're too nervous to even stand up and turn off the television set. You lie on the sofa, arms clasped around you, staring into the wall, hoping to God and Jesus that there won't be a knock on the door, that the phone won't ring. You become paralysis. Your mind locks down like a cell block at lights out. Sleep is your only distraction, but it's always rough. You sweat and shiver like the dying patriarch in a Victorian novel. When you wake up an hour later, you continue to lie on your side, eyes half-lidded, totally expressionless. "Maybe," you ask "I should take a walk outside." But your body doesn't answer. Any semblance of self is locked away now in a corner of the mind so tiny the muscles don't listen to it. The disease is in control. It's holding all the keys, pulling all the levers.

There must be some kind of way out of here.

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