a poetic response to the second moment my anxiety let me go
It's warmth and relief.
A release of a grip that had been around my heart for so long. I'd forgotten it had ever been, or could be anything else
until it lifted like sunlight bursting through storm clouds
and I was struck, full faced in a glorious few hours of gold.
Gold washing away the black hand that lives in my ribcage
always grabbing at my heart and lungs.
What made it let go just for a while? What did I do or say that was different?
How can I replicate, duplicate whatever it was to stay this way? Just a day.
Do others live here? Is this what other people feel all the time? This unexpected euphoria
or just the absence of the hand?
I realise I don't know the difference.
But it doesn't matter. My insides glow and glitter and I wander within myself in awe.
Basking, appreciating, holding every precious minute... because I know it won't last.
Eventually the storm clouds drift over to block the light, and I feel the familiar weight of the black hand settle. It's okay through.
Because twice now I've had it let go.
And I live for the third.
- Jupiter Sep 2017.