Watch my arms reach they are
taffy ropes pulling always pulling
When I wake up in the morning, I can’t see the roof of my apartment. I close my eyes again. Immediately, I remember what I forgot to finish yesterday. I rub my eyes open, they’re sore and puffy, but the roof seems to be obscured still. It’s covered in something, something green in the grey light, but I need my glasses before I can figure out what it is. I bury my face into the warm pillow but it’s too late: I’m already awake and I know there won’t be anymore sleep until after midnight.
Warning: The following is a vivid description of anxiety and panic attacks. Some readers may be triggered by the depictions. [What’s a writing drill? Read this.]
It starts with a bite. A little prick somewhere in the middle. Your thoughts, like your heartbeat, run a little faster, hot blood running the poison around your system quicker than you can think “ouch”. Then another bite, and another, as thought after thought clouds your vision, blurring out the sharp edges. The worry sets in, and you left the antidote next to your unopened Guide to Meditation at home.