Anxiety is an enemy I can’t escape. Every morning, it is the gnawing in my gut. The weight on my chest. The relentless feelings of overwhelm.
My mind accuses me. Hopeless. Useless. Terrible. Good for nothing.
Every interaction with others requires monumental effort. Every minor task, an enormity. Crushed under the weight of all expectations. Dreading the elongating list of things to do.
Pins and needles. Always on edge. Patience, once abundant and given to my children with grace, now replaced with a mother whose cup has run dry.
A dry, empty cup. A useless, useless thing. Pitiable. Unsalvageable.