There are all sorts of bad days. A few have a rational reason and a few don’t. Anxiety can be one such condition. Here’s a story by an author that will give you a close look at a mind clouded with anxiety and will help you get a better take on this subject.
I close my eyes tight. I grip the sides of my kurti until it gets wrinkled by the balls of my fist. I had walked out of the shower this morning to a bed that was a heap of mess. This kurti was washed and it looked relatively good on me. I put it on.
I try to think of things that will calm my racing heart. I try to take deep breaths, only to realize they shiver, playing with the sound of my heartbeat. As if taunting me – “Not even oxygen is going to help you this time.”
I rebel to the taunt as always; for a second I am defiant. I look into the mirror at myself. I’m not going to let my feelings bring me down this time.
My hazel-brown eyes stare back at me, a haunted look about them. Or maybe they’re just tired? I didn’t get much sleep last night, waking up in two minds. I look down, just not bearing to look into those eyes anymore. I fear that seeing my desperation will break my knife edge of a will – a will that is thin but cuts just as sharp. I can’t help but wonder whether anyone will unmask this desperation in my eyes. I take a deep breath and trying not to imagine the worst. Picking up my things, head out of the washroom.
I enter the class. I become conscious as everyone’s eyes land on me. I manage an awkward smile and sit at my place at the far end of the table. I’m lost in my own head again, feeling so conscious that the blood rushes to my head. I break into a light sweat.
CONTINUE READING BELOW
Weird looks. And a few more weird looks. Some awkward smiles too.
Someone says, “That’s so cool! What do you think, Avanthi?”
I am pulled back to reality by the mention of my name. I am overly aware of the focus being shifted to me. I curse myself for not paying more attention. My throat tightens, my voice shakes, but I manage to say, ” You were saying?”
“Which dimension are you living in? Wake up, you moron!”
I can’t talk. I can’t retort. I can’t even think. People continue to laugh, talk and judge me some more. The moment has passed. Knowing I’ve been defeated again, I mumble an excuse and walk back to my haven, the washroom.
I look into those eyes again and break down. From the inside at first, which slowly materializes into tears. That is when I realize I was begging myself to stop.
And that was true pain.
All about passion.
Writing keeps me sane.
Image source: Jimmy Law
Be the first to find out when a new post is published!
Click here to send us a WhatsApp message