The Sensation of Anxiety

In the pit of my stomach, just beneath the navel

It is dense yet not motionless

A subtle pulse of squeezing,

At times I feel it more intensely than others

Whether it is how it occupies the empty space physically

Or due to the amount of energy required to maintain an undisturbed appearance

I cannot even consider the idea of eating

I feel both nauseous and empty

The quantity of thoughts that begin to form increases

As their life span decreases

Constantly redirecting my focus me to take me no where

Only to be redirected and abandoned once again

The knot in my belly tightens

Pulling with it my attention

Which then returns back to my crowded mind

Anxiety

Like anger,

I tell myself (by telling others)

That I am not particularly prone to either emotion

I don’t think, now that I consider, I actually know what that means

Or how someone could manage to selectively experience emotions

Although I am beginning to realize that maybe at a younger age

I figured out a way to transform this intruder into something that seemed a bit less terrifying, like sadness

That seems to be my go to

I am very comfortable with tears after all

And have gotten so accustomed to doing so

That I no longer recognize the process as I occurs

It is definitely anxiety,

All that seems to help

Is to distract

To dull it into a comfortable enough ache

That I can manage to forget about if I continue to

Watch, listen, talk, move

Anything but be still

Anything to avoid this feeling

Naming the sensation seems to help

Instead of pretending it’s not there

Or forcing it to pass

I sit here, feel, and bring attention to what’s occurring within