Just when I feel you gone -
You arrive
Just when I feel you dead -
You survive
Just when I think I'm free -
You're not far
Just when I think I'm me -
There you are

There's a little family here.
The three of us.
Perhaps a future,
Or simply just a present.
But forever a gift. This little family -
Of ours.

God -
I give you my misery.
I produce and sacrifice for you.
I pray that you return my misery -
With truth.
In my foodlessness, I will listen.

For every sleep there is a wake
And sleep may last but a wake will always come
For every darkness there is a light
And the light may be small but it cannot be blown away
In every heart there is a place
And a heart may break or stop beating but that place is always full
For every end there is a beginning
And often they will look the same, until a small voice speaks light into your heart -
And you wake up.

Anxiety is a master of tying knots. He ties my stomach up tight - so tight you can't undo it without fingernails. Or maybe scissors.
He ties up the muscles in my neck and shoulders. I feel like a puppet on a lead, tendons throbbing like guitar strings about to snap.
He ties my tongue, so I cannot speak. When I try, I make no sense. Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy and Anxiety assures me that I am.
With Anxiety comes Depression - the fat lady. She sits on me, hardly moving, only heavy. She laughs often and with each chuckle, she weighs heavier on my lungs.

It's then I realize that I am a circus. A freak show. Anxiety is my contortionist, but he uses my body instead of his own. He twists me into pretzels and tosses me to feet of a laughing audience. Depression is the fat lady and I am her stool.  And I am the ventriloquist doll, the dancing dog, the monkey with the cymbals, the lion getting whipped, the idiot getting pelted with popcorn. And the world is a laughing audience, unaware of pain, aware only of their own entertaining confusion.

And I feel sicker.

Anxiety is getting quieter, but it's not gone. I feel it in my periphery, knocking and scratching. My walls are a little stronger today, and a little stronger everyday. But there's always that unwelcome guest tapping on my door. I hear it whispering through the boards, little lies I don't quite believe but I can't quite ignore. Each day is a fight.

Depression is a little louder today. Not quite loud enough to leak but it falls like rain on my roof. My roof is a little stronger today, and a little stronger everyday. But the rain still falls heavy and cold. When I find a leak, I patch it. Trusting the patches hold longer than I do. The rain makes me feel heavy and cold. Each day is a fight.

Anxiety - tells me that it's all my fault. It fills my chest and stomach with a sick, sweet bile that I'm unable to *****. It tells me I'm sick, but never sick enough. That I deserve to be miserable because I am a liar and a sinner and a *****.

Anxiety - looks like being late for work everyday. Being constantly distracted, overworked, underperforming.  Anxiety is quiet in the room but loud in my ears. I'm frozen in sickness but I cannot stop moving.