Writing has helped me immensely with Anxiety lately. Here’s something I wrote last night.

It was night, he hadn’t slept in days. Drenched in harrowing thoughts of anxiety and uncertainty about what was to come. Night after night, he laid awake, questioning impatiently when this vicious cycle would break, much like a widowmaker in a hurricane. 

The more he questioned his thoughts and doubts, the further the anxiety would ebb and flow inevitably erupting like the earths crust spewing molten fire and ash into a void. Pictures on the wall suddenly showed unfamiliar faces, friends turned acquaintances, blackout nights became a regular occurrence like a riptide pulling him to the bottoms of the earth.

As the sea raged and thoughts rippled, he tried harder and harder to row against the current; but he would only find himself almost gravitationally pulled, as if some sort of black hole swelled in the center of a vast expanse centered in a black ocean.

Days would pass and the anxiety would subside, only to return more fierce in the most unpredictable of ways, like a lightning bolt in a thunderstorm. Driving, sleeping, working, walking into a packed room; all seemingly excavating a deeper tunnel into the impossibly endless cave beneath. 

Light at the end of the tunnel? The most existential of questions constantly circumventing the darkness that has engulfed his mind for something measurable to that of an eternity.