short side of anxiety,

saying it one way:
i'm on the downside of the flu- chest congestion, fatigue, par for the course on this the 2nd week. Feeling better enough for the anxiety to tap at my door demanding entrance. I've never had anxiety like this before- my fears normally take the face of hopelessness, never usually short of breath trepidation disconnected from my mental state and burrowing deep into my emotional core. I can't say it's pleasant. And I walk around bewildered a lot. I lose my appetite. And i really don't want that to be the excuse for having gone down two sizes. It's sort of appauling and interesting all at once. I wake up, but nothing sounds "good". I half-heartedly eat a yogurt, not quite satisfied. I go to work. I force myself to eat an apple and some nuts maybe (over the course of an hour). And that's it until dinner, where i sigh over the tasteless nature of everything in my sight. Be-wildering! me. I tell you. Body, not this way. Really. Really. It could be the meandering vestiges of sickness but even the smell of things Icould do without. And my meal usually supplemented by the other teachers feeding me.

My flatmate lists all the reasons of course for why little karen is freaking out, but no amount of saying "your safe" is doing the trick, or consolment in the guise of "perfectly understandable". I suppose i need to get myself to have a good complaint session, beyond the mask of fortitude. But it's hard to find the breath. And somehow I also suspect that they might be lies. Probably why the karens are fighting and at this point nonintigrated in the telling. I absolutely understand why people chose medication because it's this "thing"and you just want it out of you. You just want it to stop. It's a hard road everyday to take a walk with it and find voice to it, question it, counter it. And say why the fuck are you here!? And not just go away! Which sadly is not at all helpful. And actively realize that though I didn't bring this on myself and that circumstances and upheaval have pushed it to the fore- it is warfare, but it's going to take more nurturing and less attack.

But let's get at it.

I'm safe because God is with me. Full stop.
I'm safe because He is watching over me.
I'm safe because He cares for me.
I'm safe because He knows right where I am at all times.
I'm safe because He is my anchor and nothing else.

I'd like to say I'm safe because I have a job, a room, and food, but I know God wants me to see bigger and wider than that. He wants me to dream, and feel safe to dream. He is not a prison warden in which if those things are met I shouldn't complain or find a breadth to desire.

I want everything else to be my anchor and not God.

I feel unsafe because my director isn't teaching me.
I feel unsafe because it's new and unfamiliar.
I feel unsafe because it's new and it's going to take time.
I feel unsafe because it's always cold and someone is always sick.
I feel unsafe because time is scheduled and relentless.
I feel like it's going too fast and I'm still too slow.
I am impatient. and impatient I don't know another way to be.
I want more space in the day to excel and not just survive.
I want more vacation time.
I want to wake up to were I am.
I want to see the record of God's goodness running through my fingertips.

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saying it another way:
barely eat. and wish you could weep tragically. enact tragic posture and mutter. get ready for work, wondering if eggs ever tasted good and how long before i have to get my pants taken in. put worship music on to block the prowling lion in the night that goes by day, take a walk to where the river meets the sea which is mostly dry. understand the comparison. you/river. feel relief trickling out already despite. siddle your way through the concrete divides and make your way onto the rocks. stop there. read a psalm. understand why john the baptist could die happy is the same reason you can die happy. go further down as the wind gets less. reorient yourself to the truth of jesus and how he saves. john it's the truth. rest at ease. find 3 shells that are perfect for crab homes. carry them to the water so the crabs can find them. don't take them home. like you want to. shake the bits out and watch them hit the water. pretend to look for things as other wanderers look on at you looking on. sit some more. read another psalm. keep listening to music. find a beaten up dinosaur head fit for a pencil. put it in your pocket and smile. find that you have to go now. back up the rocks. thru the divide. up the hill. stop to take it in. touch the volcanic rocks running up the road. say to yourself, feel where you are. feel it in your hands. place both hands on the rough rock. see where you are. see the sea. there it is. see the onions growing. see that worker over there. keep walking. turn around again. take a deep breath. close your eyes as you take each slow step to the top. to where the grandfather statues are keeping guard. cross the wide road. kick a rock in pace and lose it to the left or to the right. let it go. walk through the apartment village, past the taxi stands, and tous les jour bakery, past the school, and the small park, across another road, to the school, take another deep breath, find the woman and the man working the soil to be applicable to your working of the soil, it's just a different kind of turning over. don't wish you were them. know you are them. keep going. keep breathing. keep listening. when you say, ok, i can do this, correct yourself. Say, no. No i can't. But he can. He must. It is all i have.