Anxiety -- An Invasive Species

It starts as scattered seeds -- kernels anchored by anxiety and waiting for the right conditions to sprout. Some days they are fertilized by memories. Some days by fear. Most often they germinate themselves, arriving with a lunchbox of sunlight and water as they feed one another. They don't grow up and out, freeing themselves and me, instead they grow in twisted, circuitous paths around my body. From a seed into an invasive vine. Most of the time I have no idea why I feel anxious. No idea why my brain is trying to prep my body for flight. The more effort I put into getting to the roots of that creeping briar, the deeper they dig, and the faster it grows. The tendrils move behind my eyes and squeeze. They continue down into my lungs. Unlike most plants, this one eats oxygen and exhales adrenaline. I have to remind myself to breathe. Dizzy and tingling, exhaustion creeps into my fingers, and fills my churning stomach. I look for a problem to solve, only to discover my mind is rootbound, paralyzed and unsure. I try to tease it apart, to get to the why. Lightheaded, I pull harder. Eventually, I'm just hacking at it with desperate fists and hoping to figure out something, anything. And so it grows. It spirals and twists, over and under, through my body -- forcing its way out via my skin and stealing all of my uneasy energy for itself. I wonder if it's going to take me out with it, as my skin vibrates and crawls, electric. Every nerve ending is fragile, every touch spreads cra...
Source: Healthy Living - The Huffington Post - Category: Consumer Health News Source Type: news