Elysium

My anxiety is like a poltergeist: one day it's barely noticeable,

and the next it's the personal, formless earthquake tearing through

the fibres of my being and simultaneously feels like a creature

will either crawl down through my rectum or up through my throat.

I hide under the table in the kitchen of my mind until the shaking

and tearing and screeching stops and I'm only left with ruins.

I call these days the dark days - I'm not afraid of the dark, but

that's part of the problem.

Insomnia sweeps me up in its arms and settles me down in

the sitting room with only the dim light of my mobile phone:

it has a magic that makes the Moon feel like an old friend.

As humans, we are wired to forget things. We tell ourselves

our problems are too small for the world, but then, we feel

the issues we have are too big for our own worlds until we remember;

"Someone out there has bigger problems than me."

I wrestle with thoughts I have about failing what hasn't happened or

a sickening coincidental meeting with an ex or the way I'm going to die,

yet, that one section of my mind somehow finds an Elysium in watching

the sky's dark transition from black, to purple, to dark blue,

the watchful stars disappearing into the coming light.

Elysium: a place or state of perfect happiness.