Sometimes I forget to breathe. I feel the heat flush over my cheeks and my lungs clench with the pain of unknown stress. My mind is so focused on the world closing in around me, and the idea that I need to look for an answer make my lungs shut tight and only seconds later I part my lips and grope for short frantic breathes. For the past three mornings I’ve woken up at five in the morning, alone in the darkness, long before the birds are chirping … always with this desperate gasp of air: for comfort or understanding.
I am anxiety ridden.
I’m afraid that I am missing the world around me, or the people who make a difference. I’m afraid that my fears turn all my experiences into time bombs, breathlessly ticking away the seconds until it can finally be terminated. So many dates and so many outings are plagued with my constant need to look at the clock, watching the minutes tick by and wanting them to last longer… long enough for me to relax, long enough for me to take a second to hold onto it.
I believe in guardian angels.
I can’t explain why I hold onto the idea that someone is watching out for me, and I can’t convince you this is true, but I hold onto it all the same. As I sit alone in my room, looking at my walls, looking at the stacks of my paintings, which I have thrown to the side in shame, it seems I can never escape my thoughts. But as I close my eyes and fall asleep at night, and my worries try to keep me alert and breathless, I know my angel sits beside me, stroking my hair, and whispering into my ear to just fall asleep and slip away. I know her tears fall upon my scars and she kisses my eyelids shut at night, and I need to hold onto this.
I don’t know if I believe in God.
How can God watch over us when there are so many people that are worse off than I am? Why should he waste time on my worries while I’m in a warm bed with a fed stomach? He shouldn’t waste his time on me and my silly problems, while so many others suffer much greater things. But I do believe, that my angel cares. My angel is in my head, in every one of my thoughts. She knows what is best, she knows how I think, and knows when I need to be held, and for split seconds I feel the warmth of her breathe against my back, and I sigh with relief because I know that I am not alone.
I believe in fate.
The idea that everything happens for a reason; seems cliché… it is cliché. But I hold onto it, because this is something I need to believe in. Pain and suffering happen for a reason. Without the pain I feel from my anxious state of panic, I can never appreciate when I am held, and I can feel his heart beating while I rest for even five minutes as my thoughts, for once, aren’t jumbled. I breathe in and out, up and down, to the rhythm of his lungs and chest against my heart, and I feel comforted. When people die, I hate to admit I believe what I do. Nobody wants to accept death and who am I to say that it was meant to be. But maybe it was just their time to depart from the world. Maybe, if they had stayed any longer, their lives would have slipped into a state of darkness as powerful as death itself. I want to hold onto the fact that every shimmering brick, which lays out the pathway to my life, is already set into the earth, and that I am just waiting to fulfill my purpose until I can meet my guardian angel on the other side.
Sometimes I wish I were a blade of grass.
Or at least I wish I could be one with nature. I love laptops, I love ipods, I love DVD’s and I adore my TiVo, but sometimes I wish I could live in a silent field of tall grasses and daisies. I picture rolling greens and wind, which whistles through my hair while I lay in the soil. I am one with the earth. I see a clouded sky, serene with grays and dark blue shades, just beckoning for night to come. Few starts twinkle behind the marigold clouds, and I lay in the reeds, alone and at peace, with nothing to plague my thoughts, only me and these rolling feels, rain drops rolling down my face and saturating my linen dress. I hate the twenty-first century: Cars, trains, medications, and technology. I hate it. I want to run away and live alone with nature as man was intended, but it’s ridiculous. It’s silly. It isn’t what people are meant to do. People are meant for school, then college, then jobs, families, retirement, then death. I believe I might be skipping my life, and wasting it with artificial happiness. I don’t know if I believe in God, but I do know that if I were alone, in a field of daisies, looking up at dark rolling clouds, licking rain drops off of my lips, I would be the closest to God and my natural purpose as I can be. And I do believe, that wherever I may be, my guardian angel would be laying right beside me, catching rain drops herself, holding my hands, and helping me to take a second and breathe.
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