I am no bird; and no net ensnares me

thrivingonwords:

There is a German satellite falling to earth
She says,
“What if it hits me?”
Welcome to anxiety group

The kingdom of the sweaty palm and jiggling leg
Where the women wrap themselves up tight
Where the men bite their nails till blood

We are the magnifiers of molehills
We are the princes of panic
The ambassadors of anguish
There is no pride here

We lack the self discipline of the eating disorder group
Lack the self-righteousness of bereavement group
And we’re not as fun as procrastinators anonymous
Nobody wants to be here

Me,
I don’t sleep
Can’t sleep
I make insomnia look professional
Make your tossing and turning look like afternoon hiccups
The longest I’ve gone is nine days when literally insane
Sleep deprivation is a form of torture you know,
And I do this to myself.

Melatonin makes me sad
Benadryl is for amateurs
Hypnotics turn the lights off too quickly
And weed makes me crazy
Diazepam, Bromazipam, Prazalam,
Clonapin is the only thing that works and they’re weening me off it so,
Like a baby
Forced to remove breast from mouth
Take bottle instead
I got sent to anxiety group

And apparently we’re all going to die
Because while the girl to my left worries that the satellite will hit her
The woman to my right worries that it will hit a nuclear power plant
And then we’re all fucked.

My father says only rich people go to therapy,
Poor people got shit to do
And yet here I am
In this life boat
Surrounded by eight of the most beautiful crazy ass motherfuckers the world has ever seen
“What if it’s not just a mole, what if it’s a flesh eating virus?”
“What if I fail at life?”
“But what if it really is the rapture this time?”
“What if they hit us again?”
“What if I wake one morning to see planes scraping sky again?”
“What if it’s me this time?”

And I think,
Wow,
It must be exhausting to want to live this much.
Fuck the depressives
Fuck the body image meditation group
Fuck sex addicts anonymous

Give me your tired,
Your poor,
Your anxious,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe deeply and count to ten
Give me this collection of blurted confessions of psychosomatic itch
Of twitch and tick and stutter and sweat
Give me these weak-kneed,
Jumpy-ass,
Too much saliva,
Break out in hives,
Awkward stomach,
Hair falling out,
Chewing lips,
Restless leg,
Pounding heart,
Bastards
Any day of the week

These people who fight through everyday like fucking gladiators
Who fight demons worse than you and I can dream of
Just because they want so badly to live,
To hold on
To love
Because you can’t be this afraid of losing everything if you don’t love everything first
Because you have to have a soul crushing hope that things will get better
To be this afraid of missing it