Learning to Live with Anxiety

Image Source: Purple Clover

I'm a born worrier. Yes, I worry right from the little, insignificant things to the major, life altering decisions. Add to it, my OCD and you have a mess, right there.

While travelling: Did I forget anything important? I'm sure I must have. What about my passport and tickets? Let me double check. Just in case. OMG, did I switch off all the lights? 

While talking to someone: Oh mind, why do you wander so much? Why can't you listen to whatever it is that the other person is talking about. Wait, did she actually ask me something while I was dissecting something I read earlier on in my head?

While starting a new book or movie: Oh wait, this one doesn't seem to be that interesting. What about the other one that I had been planning to read/watch since forever? Now that I started this, should I continue and finish it off anyway? 

Well, you kind of get the drift. This is me. This is the way I function. Yes, it is utter chaos in my life and head most of the time. Worries can quickly turn into anxieties if not addressed properly and at the right time. I have not suffered any anxiety attacks so far and that's just another one to add to my list of anxieties today. The day is not too far away, a nagging voice at the back of my head reminds me.

If there is one thing that I have learnt after all these years is this: there may be days when you will feel better, much better when the worries and anxieties decide to give you a break and go for a break themselves, but they will be back. The trick is not to let them take over your life completely. A healthy amount of worrying is normal, it is only when it escalates out of your control and turn into an obsession, do you need to be concerned. 

Here is how I try to deal with mine. 

1. Accept it. Ignoring the issue is not going to make it go away. Ask yourself if there is anything you can do to solve it. There are a lot of things that are beyond our grasp. In such cases, accept the fact that you have done your best. Learn to let it go. 

2. Writing down your thoughts. Yes, writing is my form of therapy. I write down my thoughts, even those crazy ones. Start a journal, if you want. I have a lot of folders on my laptop where my deepest, darkest thoughts reside. These are for your eyes alone and you don't necessarily have to show it to anyone if you are not comfortable with it. Of course, there are others who go ahead and post them online. It's entirely up to you. Whatever rocks your boat. I make sure mine are locked and safe, it's way too intimate for me to share with anyone else. 

3, Talking about it. Well, if you have friends or family who understands you or who have gone through similar experiences themselves, you may want to confide in them. The fear of judgement will always be there, lurking in a deep corner of your mind, I know. Yet, talking about it helps. Sometimes, a listening ear is all you need. 

4. Meditation. This is one exercise that I started and gave up after a few days. As easy as it may sound, learning to quieten your mind is no easy feat. Especially when you have thoughts and stories buzzing around your head all the time. But I'm determined to at least try. A few minutes a day for beginners like me. 

5. Make time for yourself. Pamper yourself, enjoy your me time. Do not always rely on others for your happiness. Happiness is definitely an inside job, as I read somewhere. Take up a hobby and concentrate on just that. Reading, painting or even just coloring can be great stress busters. 

6. Living in the moment. This one can be a struggle. At least for me it is. I worry too much either about the past or the future that I end up not really enjoying the present. So, I'm trying not to rush and savor each moment as it is handed to me. 

7. Do what you love. You are the only one who knows you best. So do all those things that make you happy. Do not give two hoots about what others may think. If it makes you happy, go ahead and do it. Listen to your heart, follow your passion. Nothing makes me feel alive as much as writing. Find what you love and follow it. 

All the above mentioned points are easier said than done. One step at a time is the key. Do not be too hard on yourself. Accept that all those broken parts of you are beautiful too. Learn to be kind to your own self. Have you had similar experiences? If so, how did you cope with it? Write to me at aathira123@gmail.com if you are not comfortable in posting a comment here, I would love to hear from you. 

The Chosen One

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He watched her from the corner of his eye. His hands holding the newspaper in front of him, his eyes taking her in. Drinking in the sight of her. Bouncy curls that kissed her naked shoulders, a laughter that made him go weak in the knees, rosebud lips and a pink tongue that snaked out to lick the chocolate sauce that had dribbled at the corner of her mouth. He wanted to reach out, take her in his arms. 

She was the chosen one. 

He felt a stirring in his loins, making sure that he couldn't simply sit by and continue to watch the tempting receptacle in front of him. He had to do something and fast. He wanted to know what she would smell like, what her skin would feel like under his fingers. 

2 days later

Girl, 5 years old found brutally raped and murdered...

In the comfort of his home, the man ran his fingers over the picture of the smiling girl. Such a delicate child. How she had cried, this one. She had smelt of milk and candy as she struggled in his hands. And later, the pungent smell of her blood had repulsed him. 

Calling out from the next room, his wife reminded him of the movie date that he had promised his 13 year old son. Pushing aside the newspaper and shaking the thoughts of the little girl from his head, the man got up to get dressed,

The beast inside him gave a satisfied yawn and went to sleep. For now. 

P.S. There are certain stories that come to you when you are least expecting it. Like a festering wound, it stays lodged in you, oozing blood and pus finally forcing you to do something about it. This is one such story that broke me. 

Apple Of My Eye

She sees the plane flying overhead 

Laughs and calls it a giant butterfly 

She is bright, my little one 

Has her heart in the right place 

Blowing pixie dust my way 

Her giggles are the sweetest sound

Music to my ears, apple of my eye

Grasping dreams tightly in her palms

Ground her in reality

She is bound to end up in trouble 

Just like her mother 

I pay no heed to those careless words

They are born out of spite 

Each time I let the string tying her

Fly a little higher 

Carrying her laughter out loud in the wind 

She wants to be a dragon slayer,

A warrior when she grows up 

I blow kisses her way

There's no stopping her

And today we chase the end of the rainbow together...

It's Birthday Time!

No, today is not my birthday in case you were wondering. Neither is it my blog's birthday. But yes, Bewitched by Words is turning four in a few days time. On 20th November, to be precise. But since I won't be able to post here then, I thought of wishing my blog a tad early. Happy birthday, my dearest blog! You are turning four soon and I'm as proud as a Mom showing you off to the world :) 

We have come a long way together; the highs and lows, the little things and the big stuff. You have been there with me to share my happiness and also when I was going through major shit in life. So, thanks, for just being there for me. Thank you, my readers. For having faith in me when I didn't myself. For nurturing the writer in me. To the friends I have made on this journey and to the few who have left because what I write here was just not to your liking. To each and everyone of you, thank you! I shall continue to write in all that I believe in, no matter what. 

I have been falling out on the writing front lately. No matter how hard I try, I feel all that I write have been going down the drain. I have some personal stuff going on in life too and I don't want all my negativity being festered here. Yes, I'm doing okay but let's just say I have seen better days. So, I'm thinking of taking a break. Sure, I will continue to write here, this space will never cease to exist, it's way too precious to me for that. I intend on completing 'The Memory Box', a series that I started writing a while back. The first part has been posted and I shall write the rest sometime soon. I don't want it to be half baked and rushed, so I shall complete it giving it my best in my time.

I shall continue to write, just not sure if I shall be publishing it here. Like I said, don't want my blog turning too dark. So, wish me luck and hopefully I shall be back soon with a fresher mind and a lot more of better stories and poems that are bubbling inside me. And once again, Happy birthday, Bewitched by Words! Thank you for making me who I'm today :) 

Desperation

When you hold me against my will 

Desperation

Each time you turn my no into yes

Desperation 

The black and blue eye that you give me 

One that I hide carefully behind makeup

Desperation 

Tied to you eternally by invisible chains

That you lock me with and throw away the key

Desperation 

Deafening silence greets me day and night, stifling my thoughts 

Sophistication I don, a charming smile on my face 

Glossy lips, lustrous hair, a svelte figure

They look at me in envy; she has it all

They don't see the pain behind my smile

The scars on my soul, the bruises on my body

My silence is my armor, the words I form are mute on my lips 

I want to scream my lungs out, but you know that I won't 

For I will always belong to you

Just like another one of your possessions 

Sometimes I curse myself, for it's my desperation too...

The Memory Box

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Outside, it is raining. The dense fog mists the locked windows. Like from a faraway world, the rumble of a thunder is heard. The house is covered in pitch black darkness as the electricity goes off. She makes her way to the kitchen and finds a candle by the window sill. Power cuts during the monsoon was common, yet she hovers around the kitchen shelves uncertainly searching for a box of matches. Finding it finally, she lights the candle. In the lick of the golden flame, an unknown feeling grips her heart. A feeling that's as new as the flame she lit and that's as old as the rain pouring outside. She wishes to turn back time and go back to where things were not so complicated; days that would merge into beautiful nights with ease. Nights that were free of guilt and filled with longing. 

With the candle in hand, she makes her way to the attic, climbing the stairs carefully, not losing her grip. The attic lies bathed in a thin film of dust, years of disuse lying around unmasked. There are a child's toys, once loved and now discarded like many other things here. The rocking horse grins maniacally in a corner, the wooden cradle next to it. But her eyes goes to the small cardboard carton that has been sealed and left there for some years now. She had made up her mind long back not to open it, but neither did she have the heart to throw it away. 

Placing the candle on the dusty floor, she sits down next to the box, the memory box, as she likes to call it and unseals the tape after a moment's hesitation. She takes a deep breath as the memories tumble out, one by one, and then flooding her all at once. Smothering, threatening to drown her in its depths. It rises, holding her in its clutches. 

The letters, tied together with a piece of string, the few books that had grown yellow with age. She picks one up. The Mill on the Floss. A book that was a part of her syllabus then. All these years and one would have thought that the memories would have faded with age. Certain memories have a strange quality to them, the harder you try to forget, the sharper it gets, like the pixels of a picture coming together to form a clear focus.

The details of the day comes rushing back to her, pricking her like icy needles. The bright red rose that she had laid down to press in between the pages. 

Would it still be there? Or would it have crumpled to dust like many feelings? The incessant thoughts continue to linger. Well, only one way to find out. 

She opens the book, holding it tenderly, like a new born child. And there it is, the red rose, but no longer red. In muted shades of yellow and a color that was almost black. The petals delicate like a fluttering moth's wings. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth seeing the rose still there. How often we wish to hold on to those things that we know we should let go. Yet, like a stubborn stain that refuses to leave, it stays, lingering in the deep most caverns of your memory. Guarded like a fierce secret. 

Bottles of dried up ink, old notebooks covered in her handwriting, secret messages scribbled hastily on the back, random notes that she had penned whenever something got her fancy, greeting cards... 

Her hand trembles before picking up the tied bunch of letters. Somethings are better left where it is, in the past. No harm in looking, a stubborn voice inside her head nudges her. She unties the string before having second thoughts. Her eyes blur as it roams hungrily on the pages, taking in the beautiful curved writing in ink that has filled it. She takes it along with the candle and sits near the window, holding it close to her so that the occasional raindrops that breezed in through the open window would not smudge those precious words of long ago and begins to read...

... To be continued.   

Monsoon

Image Source: Tumblr

Words: My own