Walking on shattered glass would be easier

Stress and anxiety are like a blanket that wraps and constricts - familiar but uncomfortable at first, gradually twisting and tightening until it has a stranglehold. Too late, is the discovery that it has become too familiar and now almost impossible to untangle and escape. it is suffocating, exhausting and so terrifying that the heart races, pounding painfully in the chest. The sharp breaths quickening beyond control.

The senses are highlighted, with the slightest, sudden movement capable of skyrocketing the blood pressure. Muscles are primed, like coils, ready to spring at the slightest unexpected noise. Apologies follow; the object knocked over, the drink spilled or the explosive expletive uttered in the most inappropriate circumstances.

Live in the moment. Breathe from the stomach. Slow down the heart rate. Relax. Easy said, seldom achieved. What was the thinking behind that? Is it really likely to happen? Think of the positives, deal with the negatives. So much to ponder, while simultaneously trying to avoid thoughts of the cause. A contradiction in concepts with no short term relief. 

Live in the moment. Find my bliss. So simple sounding but so difficult to achieve. Time is spent in an attempt to indulge hobbies, pursuits, passions that may comfort. For a time this appears to work. The nerves apparently unwind, the hands shake less. But unexpected shards pierce the newly grown armour, exposing the charade and the nerves snap. Like an overstretched elastic band, the resulting collapse is painful. There is less enthusiasm for beginning... yet again... on the long road back to that familiar point.

How many times must this same road be traveled before that safe place is reached? How long will all this last? Like Pavlov's dogs, it is apparenlty a learned reponse of flight rather than fight; the fight is all gone and the will is almost broken.  I long to fly free.

In the mean time, I will continue on this unsure path. The vocation that promised me security, has broken me, leaving me with insecurity. The thought of it terrifies me beyond words. My prose is cathartic. My art consoles me. Mr faith comforts me. My family support and love me. My books inspire me.

I am stressed but I am blessed.