I feel like an explorer bush-whacking through the jungle.
Only, the jungle is my mind and I have no idea how to wield a machete.
This tiny little pill has allowed me to slow down enough to think.
Thoughts and feelings bubble to the surface, and I sit in quiet contemplation with a cup of tea.
Whether this is a good side effect, or a bad one, I’m not sure.
When I figure it out I’ll let you know.
So I sit here and stare around at the thoughts within my mind that remind me of a Jackson Pollock painting.
Feelings and fragments of ideas, scattered about all meshing together to form one dense feeling of uncertainty.
And yet I must wade through it all. I must sort the thoughts into neat, little rows of cohesion so that I can cope.
This is the frustration of living with anxiety.
Like a gardener who has inherited a long-abandoned plot of land I begin to till my mind.
Each thought comes and goes and I yearn to pen it down onto digital paper, only to question if anyone really wants to hear the rambles of my mind.
Some thoughts get tossed away, while others make it here into this space.
One day the sun will break through my jungle.
The land will be ready for fruition, a blossoming garden of Eden that I claim as my own.
One day all will make sense and the rain of cleansing will wash over me,
And that day will be glorious.
For now, I must stick to the grind. I embrace the day to day grit and grime of the work that must be done.
I welcome the dirt under my nails and know that with each feeling that threatens to overwhelm me, I am stronger than it. I can conquer this.
Because I’m not a farmer, nor an explorer. I’m a warrior.