Waves

Another way to describe Anxiety is to call it waves.

There are days when anything can trigger me: a message, an event, words.

A thought enters my head like the first dipping of my toes into ocean water. The thought says: "You know this will take up a lot of your mental health".
Then slowly, the first waves of anxiety roll up. It feels like heating a stove. Except with anxiety I don't know why it's burning.
I feel the water growing around me. I can't tell if it's rising higher or if I'm going in deeper. I don't do anything. I'm powerlessly staring at the scene unfolding around me.
A big wave rolls up, it reaches to my chin. I can only close my eyes.

By this time, the me in reallife is probably cuddled up with blankets and helplessness.

The me inside my head however, is drowning.
The waves reach the point of overwhelming me completely. Every time they hit, I lose my orientation and have to start searching for stable ground to stand on again.
Soon the waves start hitting at a speed that makes me unable to recover ground.
I twirl around like a loose particle.

The me in reallife is probably busy controlling her shaking right now. Probably eating, probably eager for anything to keep her busy.

At night, the waves subside. The water releases me, I fall asleep.
However, the biggest hurdle lies in the next morning. Sometimes the waves make me wake up on a different shore.
It is a feeling that for most outsiders is unrelatable, the feeling of the morning after. Although the anxiety has faded, I feel lost even more than before.
I look around at the ruins of my illness, frantically searching for something I remember seeing. The waves have a way of destroying what little I have managed to build since the last time they came.

The me in reallife is probably on the phone right now, apologizing excessively.

Sometimes metaphors are the only way out of the guilt.