Familiar Unfamiliarity

            I can smell it. It doesn’t smell bad, or good. Just kind of earthy with people undertones. I was unaware it had a smell. I’ve never been able to smell it before. The floor under my feet is cold, smooth wood. Not the hard, frigid tile that my soles are used to. It looks nice with the rest of the kitchen and family room. The carpet is gone, too. Replaced by a short, rough rug. My feet don’t like it as much. New lights hang from the ceiling, little bells of sun holding onto metal vines. My mom has found a new hobby: changing things.

The sun room is still a sun room, but doesn’t feel the same. Barbies, stuffed animals, Polly Pockets, toy kitchen supplies, and crayons scatter the floor and a toy chest is against the wall. I can hear Dora singing from the other room. I recognize a lot of it, but it seems so out of place.

I walk upstairs, the steps still carpeted like I remember, the same five picture frames line the wall on the journey upwards. Phil Collins plays over the speakers in the house, same as always. My hand holds tightly to the rough, blue, woven handle of my bag, something very familiar.  I don’t let go as I enter the room. It smells like boy. My green sheets are gone, replaced by brown ones and a boring, navy blue comforter. None of my dance pictures or trophies and souvenirs can be seen. The walls barren, the desk empty, and the side table only has a clock and a book. An electric piano has been added by one wall, a tie hanging over the chair in front of it. It isn’t my room anymore, my younger brother has taken ownership of this place.

Everything still looks familiar. It’s the same house, the same family, but it is no longer home. Home is in Provo. Home is school, and homework. Home is red walls in a 3^rd story apartment. “Kaley!” The voice of my mom wafts upstairs followed shortly by the echoed shout of my 5 year-old sister. I soon hear soft thuds as my sister is undoubtedly running up to get me. “Taco bell, right now. Let’s go, go, go!” She jumps up and down to emphasize the rush. Taco bell with my family, like always. I guess not everything has changed. Home is still here in little ways.

To Escape

Worry,

Coursing through my veins.

Thoughts never ceasing.

My mind is like a highway,

With anxiety riding it’s road.

Stress,

Anger,

Envy,

They are all passengers.

Driving endlessly,

Hauntingly,

Through my head.

I see no exits,

Only constant pain.

I feel like breaking down,

Turning off the engine,

Never to start again.

Just to give up.

But then,

Right before I turn the key,

I find my escape.

Blue.

Brown-blue eyes.

Eyes that don’t judge me,

Eyes that know me,

That drive worry far away.

A smile that makes my heart skip,

And cheeks flush.

Laughter that clears the roads,

And leaves nothing but joy.

No more doubt,

Or worry.

In this escape,

I find my friend.

Who organizes the chaos in my mind.

Whose caring arms chase away sadness.

And even if the escape is brief,

I cannot lose.

As long as he is there,

The anxiety cannot take me.

I am safe.

Nocturnal

The sky is awake.

The stars giggling and winking,

Flirting with each other

And teasing the rest.

The ocean is awake.

Waving up to the stars;

Jumping higher and higher to try

And join in their teasing.

The forest is awake.

Whispering secrets and gossip.

Ignoring the waters’ jumps

And the stars’ giggles.

I am awake.

Catching the sky’s winks,

The ocean’s waves,

And the trees’ whispers.

While the world sleeps,

The world is awake.

A Reflection of the Word Anxiety

A panic attack is a difficult experience to describe accurately. Short, staggered, rapid breaths. Heart beating against my rib cage, as if trying to escape and take my life with it. And wet, blurry eyes with red, puffy cheeks. I can’t stop shaking, the trembling a sign of the battle taking place in my mind and body. I can’t make sense of my thoughts. What is rational and what is irrational? What actually happened and what is just being over exaggerated by my mind?  I have no control. I’m a victim of my emotions. I’m not sure when it’ll end or how bad it’ll be. The only thing I’m sure of is that I feel like I’m going to die.

Never had I thought that I would be in an accident. I’m a careful driver, paranoia makes sure of that. But I can’t control other’s actions. My car is creaking and it’s a slow process getting it home with the bumper hanging off and the back end crushed in. It happened fast, not sure how. I had stopped behind the car in front of me, then suddenly impact and my head is on the steering wheel. She “hadn’t seen me stop.” She totaled my car. Driving home, I can’t stop the panic. Anger, frustration, sadness, and confusion all muddle together under the terrible weight of my anxiety. I want to pull over, to make it all stop. I’m barely controlling myself behind the wheel. Why, why, why did this happen to me? What did I do to deserve any of this?

Exhaustion and scattered thoughts; control it. Breath hitches; control it. The chatter around the room dulls in my ears, the chalk on the chalkboard drones on, soft clacking on my ear-drums. I’m not even sure what is triggering it this time around. It’s the second attack today, but why in class? Can’t my mind and body just take a break when I’m in front of my peers? The panic rises in my chest; control it! I’m frustrated with my lack of control, yelling at myself in my head, just wanting it to stop.

I was terrified and confused the first time it happened. I couldn’t control myself, and I’m all about control. Turns out that’s a nice indicator of general anxiety disorder. I remember vaguely talking about it in Psychology and did more research. The attacks continued and I wanted help. “Psychology is a joke. It’s all in your head.” Dad had the money, so no doctor for me. It led to the most miserable year of my life. “I have an anxiety disorder, you may have one to.” A girl said to me one day as I was hiding an attack in the bathroom, Brynna I think. “Want me to teach you some ways of minimizing the attacks?” I nodded as she calmed me down. And so she did. Make a list of what needs to be done, prioritize it. Don’t overwhelm yourself, cross off what doesn’t NEED to be done. Speak your worries out loud to someone who can think rationally, it probably isn’t as big in life as it is in your mind. Fill your mind with song lyrics from one of your favorite songs. Say a prayer. Take deep, calming breaths. Avoid caffeine. Find a hobby, something that you love. Over the span of the next month she taught me whatever her therapist taught her. I wasn’t so scared after that. I could handle this, and I have been.

Exams are a part of life. Annoying, stressful, and time consuming. Pressure and stress is no stranger to anyone studying at a university, but it becomes more strenuous when racked with overzealous anxious thoughts. Thoughts like, “If I fail this test then I’ll fail this class and if I fail this class I won’t get my degree and if I don’t get my degree I won’t graduate and if I don’t graduate I’ll never get a job and if I don’t get a job I’ll end up being homeless and if I’m homeless I won’t be happy and it’ll all be because I got a B on this test.” It is definitely irrational, and just an added step to my daily study habits.

Tea is calming, soothing, and always helps when my worry is high. Tea is my savior today. Work was long and it was busy. Not to mention that I have at least 3 hours of homework left to do along with 2 exams to study for and I have that paper due next week that I want to get a head start on and I need to apply for internships and…I need to drink some more tea.

“You need to find a hobby.” Brynna’s words return to mind. “Find something that you enjoy, and whenever you feel an attack coming, do that hobby to distract yourself long enough to calm down.” So here I am, writing. Stories, poems, or even nonsense. If anything seems too overwhelming, I write about it. Or I’ll write something completely different. It doesn’t matter, because I’m distracted and doing what I love. I have found a way to beat anxiety. While it may not be permanent, I can come out victorious when the monster comes knocking. Panic attacks are scary, they always will be. I’m not myself when I’m having an attack and my mind doesn’t work normally. But I know that I can come out on top, I have come out on top.

When the Moon Comes

The moon smiled widely onto the town.

It slowly crawled closer to the world.

Oh Tsar Lunar.

The townsfolk heard its approach,

Felt the change in the push and pull.

They saw the pulse of the shift.

It was as if nothing changed at all.

But nothing was the same.

They were fallen.

The small town of innocence cringed.

She flew over the rooftops.

The well rippled, the water excited.

Kay had nowhere to go.

She tasted the fear.

She was the one with no family.

It was her fault

No one would survive this.

The muddy sky parted for the final descent.

They were running, screaming, fleeing,

But with no safe place to turn.

She was happy.

Ay dios mío.

The moon laughed as it came closer.

It was huge, and it was close at the close.

The Underground Ride

“This stop: Gloucester Road Station. Next stop: High Street Kensington. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.” The young man and woman rushed through the sliding doors of the 5:05 underground as they slid shut. The train jolted to a start as the two found open seats in the back end of the car, crushed up against empty crisp wrappers and half-filled water bottles.

The woman pulled an envelope out of her bag and offered it to the man, who subtly shook his head and made no motion to take it. She took a calming breath and returned it to her bag. “I’m glad we did this. I’ve enjoyed myself,” she said as she set her bag on the ground, carefully avoiding spills and dirt. He nodded and sat in silence next to her, just staring at their dim, dirty reflection in the window across from them. The seat’s worn out cushion hard and uncomfortable beneath him.

“Are you happy then?” He asked finally, turning to face her. “And not just about dinner, but about everything? The way things have happened?”

“You know, I am. I know that may seem odd, but really I am.” Her eyes echoed her words, reflecting that happiness. Her entire countenance just shone with joy and excitement.

“Then I am happy.” He said matter-of-factly before turning back to the grimy reflection. He couldn’t help but notice how the scratches and grime on the window paired with the dim, gray cement behind it made him look so much older. Or how happy she still seemed to look next to his crumpled figure. He tapped his foot in minor frustration.

“I know it isn’t what you wanted, I know how hard this is for you. Believe me, I’m not trying to force you into anything. But it wasn’t in my plan. You know that, don’t you? I didn’t plan for this to happen. It just did. But now I’m very happy, I hope you can understand that.” She grabbed his hand and gently squeezed, bringing his attention back to her pale face and short black curls, the sparkle in her baby blue eyes. The man sighed and nodded, giving her hand a short squeeze in return.

“I know.” He gave her a smile, trying his hardest to make it sincere, not thinking he succeeded. She smiled in return, guess she bought it. His face faded again, “It just isn’t how I saw things happening. This wasn’t in my plan for life, or for us.” The woman gave him a sympathetic smile and squeezed his hand again before drawing it away. His eyes trailed after her hand as it left his, leaving the spot feeling cold and empty.

“Well, I think that things will still work out. I just hope you can get used to it. I don’t want us to drift apart. You mean so much to me, you always have and always will. While you’re happy for me now, I hope that in time you can be happy for you.” The train began slowing, the many people standing in the humid London train swayed with the motion.

“Next stop: High Street Kensington. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.” She nervously began spinning the ring on her left hand, still so new and unfamiliar on her finger. He watched her do it, straining to not notice the size and splendor of the gem or what it represented, but still said nothing in response.

“I’m still really glad I saw you.” The woman got up slowly, steadying herself on the handrail next to her as the train stopped. “I had a great time. And I hope to see you again soon,” she said as she handed him the envelope he had earlier refused. She grabbed her bag and sashayed out the sliding door once it opened, hurrying to beat the rest of the busy evening, city traffic. She waved quickly before disappearing completely on the escalator leaving the tube station, leaving the man looking down in disbelief at the invitation tightly gripped in his hands as the train took off again.

The Courtroom

Judges.

Judges everywhere.

In the classroom, on the streets, in your house,

In your mind.

Self-appointed judges, all of them.

With their stares and their jibes

Tearing you down

Piece

By

Piece.

Until you are stripped and unprotected,

Just a raw core.

Alone and insecure in a world of billions.

Run more, eat less.

Study more, sleep less.

Don’t be you, be less.

Less than what you want,

Less than who you are and need to be.

Just stop.

Stop being one of those judges.

Just breath, and block out the stares and jibes.

Be you.