Posts Tagged ‘Mind’

Trapped

thoughts circling

continuous

never stopping

 Lost

fears gaining

persistent

peace waiting 

 Scared

heart pounding

always

hope longing

 Stuck

body tingling

constant

ideas triggering

 Angry

fists clenching

forever

tense feeling

 Weep

mind lying

endless

eyes crying

 Stop

voices talking

eternal

sound mocking

 Free

soul escaping

moment

for taking

I have always been an anxious, nervous person ever since I was a child. I rarely find moments of complete calm, when my mind is quiet and I’m at peace (these moments are like rare gems to me, and I am always grateful for them). I have become adapt to being in an anxious state, in fact, for me it just feels like who I am. It never posed any problems for me up until a few months ago when I experienced my first anxiety attack. It was the most terrifying experience I have ever had. I liken it to being on a roller coaster, going 100km without a harness, and then free falling continuously for hours. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest, I couldn’t breathe, I was hot and cold, shivering and tense. It’s the strangest feeling having your mind tell you you’re dying while at the same time telling you your fine, calm down its just anxiety. I wrote this poem about how it feels to be trapped in a state of illogical panic and the moment you break free and feel normal again. 

White

Posted: April 22, 2012 in story, writing
Tags: , , , , , ,

This is the beginning of a story I started to write. The story ended up morphing/growing into something else and this no longer fit with the idea, but I really loved this opening and even though it’s not finished and slightly abrupt I still had the urge to share it with you all.

White. White. White. White walls, white ceiling, white floor. If a color could make a person go crazy, white, would be that color.

White clock, white pen, white file. White.

Sitting surrounded by all the blankness that is the color white made her anxiety grow stronger.

Tick.

Tick, tick, tick.

If an object could make a person go crazy, a clock would be that object. As if people didn’t notice the passing of time enough, they had to add an insidious ticking sound to keep you informed of every second lapsing.

The combination of the whiteness and ticking was pushing her over the edge. She closed her eyes to avoid the horrid glare and lifted her hands to hers ears. She tried to relax but that was a lost cause she hadn’t felt relaxed since she was five. After years of emotional distress she had virtually lost the entire concept of what it meant to relax. Her hands began to sweat and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. She couldn’t sit there much longer, she began to bounce her knees, nausea crept up into her stomach like a familiar stranger lurking in the shadows. She wouldn’t be able to last any longer, she needed to get out of there before she hurled all over the ugly white walls. Just as she was about to get up a muffled voice saved her and pulled her back into reality.

“Ms. Brooks?” A hand reached out and touched her shoulder, she flinched and opened her eyes, she stared at the woman stunned by her contact.

“Ms. Brooks, are you okay? Do you need a glass of water?”

She couldn’t put together any words just a simple vertical nod. The woman, a short redhead, with far too much make-up for her age, scurried across the white floor with her white sneakers; they squeaked as the rubber collided with the linoleum. She reached the water cooler, filled a cup and shuffled her way back, squeak, squeak, squeak. Tick, tick, white.

“Here you go Ms. Brooks,” she held the cup in front of her face.

White. A white cup.

How did she expect her to drink water out of a white cup? White is what go her into this position. She took one look at the cup and without thinking swatted it out of the redhead’s hand. Oxygen was simultaneously extracted from the air and pulled into everyone’s lungs, a gasp was heard from all mouths.

“I’m sorry, I just– I just don’t like the color white,” she stammered, sounding slightly confused by her confession.

“No need to explain Ms. Brooks, I don’t like it either. Dr. Willows will see you now.”

She rose from the chair, but she couldn’t move forward. She was stuck in this white box, that ticked, that squeaked, that blinded. The box held her, consumed her and deprived her of rational thought.

Tick. Tick. White.

“I have learned that it is not important to find the answers in life, but much more important to pose the questions that may have no answer.” L.D

I think it was Einstein who said “The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality. It is enough if one tries merely to comprehend a little of this mystery every day. Never lose a holy curiosity.”

This is how I try to live my life, not to find the answer to the question but simply to ask it.

As I was scrolling through “topics” I came across a blogger who had this thought the power of a positive idea is greater than the power of a negative idea.  In reaction I had this thought who is to say whether an idea is positive or negative. Can an idea not just be an idea? Why do so may things in our lives have to have a charge, a meaning, a description? Again I ask, can things not just be things? Why does the grass have to be green, is it impossible for us to see it as just grass?

I often here people say there is no love without hate, or you have to take the good with the bad. I don’t know if I want to believe that, I think I would rather not have either than have pain, suffering, oppression, anger and bouts of happiness, bliss and love. Would the world really be boring if every feeling, idea, thought felt the same way? Not to say the every thought, feeling or idea would be the same but would affect us in the same way.

I then have to ask you this, is peace boring? In a sense if global peace was achieved we would all accept every aspect of existence/life as we know it on this planet. We would have respect for everyone and everything. All things would be different but be accepted in the same way or is that an unfair assumption of peace? I guess that’s what my idea of peace is.