Sporadic Anxiety

My thoughts are the crashing waves that pulled me out to sea. It’s as if the light of the full moon awakened Poseidon. Judging by the strength of the current, his awakening was not a pleasant one. The ocean had me in its grasp now. Stealing me from my tranquil shore, dragging me through the coral and broken shells. I bob in and out of the water. Every now and then, strands of seaweed caress my legs, begging me to stay. Each time, their offer becomes appealing. But that sort of stability would be deadly, so I kick and I thrash and I refuse to be enticed. It’s reached the point of sink or swim. I never learned how to carelessly float on my back. So if you see me merely floating along, it’s because life has left my body. That image fuels my adrenaline, but my bursting speed is short lived. I’ve always been poor at pacing myself. These harsh waters have once again become overly-threatening. It’s the space between each wave that pushes me under water, that I am able to quiet these thoughts of drowning. Breathe. Slow down. The water is no longer tossing me aimlessly, but pushing me in the right direction. Breathe. Stroke. There is nothing left but this now. As my energy becomes more reserved, my pace finally develops for the long run. Breathe. Stroke. The ocean has calmed. A man lost at sea, on the brink of destruction, is now headed back to shore.

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