Friday, 19 February 2016

A Friday Afternoon (February 19, 2016)
Around me
The chaos of life
Bubbles forth
Like a babbling brook.

As I struggle
To stay connected
With myself.

My rising levels
Of anxiety
Reaching towards
A panic attack.

Leaving me
Extremely vulnerable.

As people walk by
In the library.

In knowing
It's just my body
Its hyper-vigilance.

A by-product
Of an abuse past
I'm trying to

This growing urge
To runaway
And hide
Inside my apartment.

To do so
Would be admitting
Once again
I have failed.

To allow
Any tears of frustration
To grace my face.

As I beat back
The growing sense
Of being
A worthless failure.

Trying to control
My trembling hands
Typing this

In claiming
One small victory
At a steep price.

Therisa © 2016

Author's note: Have been diagnosed, as having living, with chronic depression, various anxiety disorders and PTSD, (I refuse to say, suffering, as I know, these conditions, will be, with me, for the rest of my life) as the result of a very abusive past, growing up, as a child, and later on, as an adult. As part of my healing process, I have taken Cognitive Behaviour Therapy (CBT), at a local hospital, near my apartment. Never realizing, until afterwards, a lot of the stuff, I having doing, on my own, has been CBT techniques, to distract myself, in triggering situations, like the above poem. To analyze, what is causing this reaction, while, in the library.

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