Author: Dan Verkys

It begins in the late afternoon, when that quiet falls over the home,
When the last shadows of the day begin to stretch across the windows.
When the evening meal is over, and we sit quietly watching TV, my mind begins to wander,
First a prickling on the back of my neck, which soon washes over me like cold water entering my bloodstream.
The anxiety that night brings is uninvited, and unwelcome, and it won’t be denied its prize.
It arrives, it is formidable, full of forced aspiration and has total contempt for me.
Anxiety doesn’t care how my day has been, or anything about me, it has its own agenda,
A cough sets my mental trajectory for the evening, like a bullet from a gun, I can’t catch up with.
This evening there will be no calm, as my throat squeezes to match the back of my aching neck,
My stomach churns with thought, as the minds anxious cold hands slip under my skin.
There’s no averting my eyes, there’s no unknowing what this unwelcome guest wants, but it speaks…
“Ah, there you are”, it says to my ashen face staring back from the bathroom mirror, “Did you miss me?”
“Why the visit?” I reply, “Because of secret knowledge, or because of folly or guilt?” it hisses.
No, there is no reason surely, what possible thing could be here for it to feed on.

Sickness was the answer, my sickness, that heaviness in my chest, my trigger, my great mental weight,
Reminding me of my own mortality, reminding me of lost loved ones, “Is tonight the night?” it hisses.
I feel helpless, and even though I have company, I still have the feeling of being so very alone,
The anxiety grows, as my self-comfort fails, “You’re not alone, you’re not alone” I repeat.
“You can breathe, see you’re doing it now, you’re doing it, despite what your brain tells you” I say.
But there is a void inside, a place that fills itself during anxious times with anything it can find,
It knows where to look, anxiety has the keys to the everything, and I can feel it unpacking things.
Comfort, distraction, conversation, everything is a trigger, as the void begins to grow within,
“Just breathe” I say, “just breathe”, but therein lies the problem, the trigger is breath itself.
The fear of sickness, uncontrolled aging, death, of time passing quickly, and the void grows deeper.

Doubt, now it has me doubting everything, relationships, employment, pastimes, what if, what if?
And the scattered anxious thoughts begin to flow at increasing speed,
What could I have been, why has everything been taken from me, why has life been so difficult.
Grow up poor, earn little, raise a family, lose a family, start a new life, always behind the eight ball.
Pressure, why can’t you just be happy, stop thinking of the past, it is gone, it’s done, let it sleep,
But why did it all go so fast, how did I get from 16 to 50 in a blink of an eye?
Where is everyone I cared for? Why do I feel so alone? What did I do to become so abhorrent?
Questions, questions, more doubt, the void is filling up nicely now, the anxiety is growing stronger.
“There’s that breath again, that one sounded sicker than the last, stop thinking your fine” it hisses.
“Try standing, yes that’s a distraction, try it won’t you, as I percolate thoughts into daggers.” It says.
“Your ugly, your dumb, your fat, oh yes, a new line of attack yes yes self-esteem, you’re a fake” the anxiety is in ecstasy.

This evening is out of control, but I can’t show my cards, my game is solitaire not blackjack,
You get no comfort if you ask, when your illness is the lesser of two, you better keep it to yourself,
There’s only space for one jockey on this bolting mental racehorse, and don’t you forget it.
Take another breath, a sip of water, cross your legs, change the song, write some words,
All these sweet distractions attempt to dowse the fire, but the mind is burning all comers now.
What does it want, what’s its objective, what’s the endgame here because I just don’t see it.
“Suffering, to remind, belittle, to control with fear and loathing, yes, yes, the self-loathing” it hisses,
You don’t hate yourself, but the brain will bring you down to earth, you’ll crash down.
“Alone, despised, untalented, uninteresting, a failure, yes, failure, ah there you are, I see you” it says.
That feeling has me right where it wants me, my hands shaking, I question everything, doom.

I fight back, I stand, I change the song, I lose myself writing these words, there’s comfort here.
“Dumb, write yourself to death, write to show just how illiterate and stupid you are” it hisses.
The void seems to be bottomless, it should be full, but it’s now an inexhaustible furnace, burning hot,
Burning everything thrown into it, reduced to ashes, leaving plenty of space for much more.
An ache now in my ribs, poor posture? “Or is it that liver again, oh yes, a new line of enquiry” it hisses.
Old illnesses, forgotten pains, all back, served up fresh to haunt me, as I try hopelessly to recover,
Suddenly I’m back on that one jockey bolting horse, as it runs wild and untethered.
“Sickness, lack of breath, ribs, liver, lungs, pneumonia oh yes, back to that fear” it hisses.
I’ll have all night to feel this, I’ll never get any sleep, the burning void wants yet more.
The pit of anxiety awaits my pleasure, it’s here to welcome me into its sickly black embrace,
Whenever I’m feeling good about myself, anxieties dull blade is at my ribs, ready to slip between.
Welcome to night-time, the worry, haunted by the past, fearing the future, alone, sick, and dying.

This has been one of many repeating conversations with my anxious mind, the other me.