I know I’m not breathing anymore.
I know this because my lungs no longer process air, and my heart no longer beats the joy into what I’m doing.
My motivation is dying because the cancerous thought in my brain keeps poisoning the water I drink.
Sometimes i hope the poison is enough to kill me but i keep waking up every morning.
I keep waking up every morning because I still have things to do and I’m going to get them done in what years I left.
I know i probably have like 60 years or so left, but I’m just focused on the next 10 seconds.
The sixty seconds are a clock on the wall that even though it’s quiet you can hear it ticking in the back of your head.
Every hour you would think it would go off, but it’s every 60 sixty seconds to remind myself that I still need to continue for another minute.
Every minute I have to remind myself why I’m breathing, why my heart is still beating, and I need to stay on top of my anxiety.
My anxiety is an old friend. Even though I’ve known them since I was a child, they have always held me down.
They hold me at the bottom of the biggest sea of thoughts that overwhelm my feeble body and the pressure of everything in my life no matter how small threatens to swallow me whole.
But when anxiety keeps me drowning, I know exactly who my anchors are.
