Am I the only one here whose anxiety is envisioned as, depicted as, a ball.?
In my particular case, a ball of wool.
A solid mass of intermingled, knotted, coarse, crude wool.
For many years, tightly bound
At one point beginning to unravel – even more fearful than the tight knot….
Even unravelling at speed once, alarmingly so.
Did it ever really leave me, that ball in my stomach. There since Childhood.
Taken me years and years into Adulthood to realise it was in fact, Anxiety.
It had a name. A capital for a proper noun.
Why didnt they tell me back then? Why didnt we label, categorise and print out our woes … back then.
Is it that they existed less than now?
I thought the ball had gone at one stage….maybe I was truly happy for a while….
Yet then it returned with a vengeance! With a searing emptiness to remind me daily it was missing
That I had wickedly unravelled it and torn it, wrenched it from my gut and now my comfort rock was gone, painful as it felt at times, pressing down on my very inner core.
But this….this utter Emptiness. This hollow ringing Despair. Not even a worthy replacement.
Its mantra – There is nothing left inside of me. There is nothing left inside of me.
Echoing throughout my very person. Singeing the edges of my Soul.
Of late it has changed its form again.
It decided, this Entity, to reconvene its gnawing, its inimitable gloopy presence in the pit of my stomach, clawing at my insides at any given, but unexpected moment. No warning, just layer upon layer of uncertain certainty that it will lay down again. Resurface again. Simultaneously.
If I imagine removing it by force I know it will just thwart me so I have to let the feeling, the invasion of me, dwell until it decides its time to vacate again.
This unpaying, scrounging, vagrant.
Sucking me dry of energy, motivation and desire.
I want to scoop it out, scrape mercilessly at my innards, free myself from its sticky tendrils wrapping around the walls of my gut.
It resists. Like a mollusc created from transient thought. A growth manifested by Guilt , Shame, Lies, Tragedy, Confusion. All abstracts leading to one concrete, unperishable mass.
Am I then?
Am I the only one?