Calm

is something I aim to be, but often am not.

It’s the difference between lounging in my sun-lit room in the evening

and the day of work when chaos and anxiety reigned in my bones.

And I hate–

absolutely deplore, really–

the fact that calm recedes like the waning tide

and my stress comes out to play, wanting to take center stage for everyone to see.

I don’t like that people see that side of me, the side I’d rather hide.

The side that says things aren’t going to our plan, so let’s freak out.

The side that says people are annoyed with you right now (even if they’re not and I completely misinterpreted their signs), so let’s freak out.

The side that says there’s a million things you need to think about and remember and absorb and keep in mind because you’re supposed to be thinking on a higher level now, so freak out.

The side that says you’re not keeping up with other people’s pace, so freak out.

The side that says you’re not doing good enough, so freak out.

So freak out.

Just. freak. out.

And there calm is, sleeping in that dark corner because stress has sung her to sleep–the only soothing thing stress will know.

Calm will return. She always does.

But I wish she had never gone away in the first place.

And I don’t know how to get her to stay when my mind begins to fray.

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