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I used to think it was a bad thing. Anxiety is typically associated with the negative. But, anxiety also keeps us safe and pushes us forward. Without it I wouldn’t be a writer, I wouldn’t be successful, I wouldn’t be me…
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I like to think of myself as a spool of yarnthe other person pulls; unraveling me ever soslightly with each small tug. I lose pieces of myselfI grow smaller, weakerAs time wears on the once thick yarn now barelycovers the spool – its foundation poking out between each fine stringThe tugs at the string are
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I’ve been writing as long as I could remember. I spent hours writing short stories as a child which continued on throughout my life. I’ve taken breaks from writing here and there but it always calls me back. Recently, I lost my job and the pull to write was greater than it ever had been.
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I’m not sure if I feel in the same way I used to… I feel, I do But, it’s less… LESS raw LESS real….like a perpetual dream Pain feels dimensions awayMaybe because like with anything your body adapts just like your hands your heart calluses over so that it can no longer be rubbed raw
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Walls drip acidic slimerunning down the mirrors that cover every crevice. They reflect and glint offeach other- burning me, blinding me.Voices echo- bellowing: fat, ugly, whale, bitch. I recognize every one, all strangers- passerby’s in the hallways. Those boys twist my brain, bashing and tauntinguntil I believe. My vision morphs: mirrors produce a monster.Eyes narrowed,
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Water trickles overrocks, under crevicescreating an intricate mazebubbling and churning-forced in streamlinedirection, constantlyswishing, sloshing. Murmurs of Mother Naturepushing each molecule onwardsand me sitting on that warm rock, water nippingat my toes, wishing itreally was as simpleas this.
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K.J Stafford 