For all those moving through feelings of anxiety, or those who have loved ones who are…. “And this is the place….the place I hate….where my throat tightens and I feel uncomfortable in my own skin and sometimes it’s hard to breathe…. And I thought I was over this. Every time it happens I think I’m over it, and then it happens again. Over nothing. Old triggers. Boring wounds. The same shit.
I’m bored of myself. I don’t want this anymore. This isn’t protection. It’s poverty. It’s taking away from my life and making me forget how far I’ve come.
I am not this. I am not a feeling. I am not anxiety. I am peace. I am love. I choose love. I choose to be wrong. I don’t need to be right or feel justified in this. I can let it go. I can choose again. I do choose again
An ode to anxiety
