It’s the weight of the world
But it’s nothing at all
Light as a prayer, and then I feel myself fall
You got to give me a minute
Because I’m way down in it
And I can’t breathe so I can’t speak
I want to be strong and steady, always ready
Now, I feel so small, I feel so weak– Jason Isbell, Anxiety
Heavy
I’m standing in a hotel room, just staring at the contents of my suitcase. It’s been 5 minutes. No, 10 minutes. I’ve been standing here for 10 minutes. That’s what he snarls at me. I grab another set of clothing, run to the bathroom to change, tugging here and there. I think about hiding in this bathroom for the rest of my life. There’s no snacks in here, I joke to myself while a small sensation of dread blossoms in my stomach. I walk out in the changed clothes. He says it looks great, seemingly from the eyes in the back of his head as he was glued to whatever he was reading at the time. It’s not right. It’s not ok. What’s wrong with me. I should be at home. In bed. I’m disappointing him. Make a decision. He’s upset. Just don’t cry. Stop crying. Make a decision. I stare back down at my suitcase once again, searching for anything as the once small dread seems to have spread to paralyze my whole body. He’s asking questions, increasingly frustrated from confusion about why I’m crying, standing motionless, unable to form words. “JUST CALM DOWN. It’s just clothes.”
The difficult but doable, impossible. Death by anxiety.