Waltzing with Anxiety

[EchoSounding]

Just thought I'd share a poem that I've written. Writing is one way I am able to deal with my anxiety. I had a pretty difficult time just going to the store last night because I haven't been in a store in a few days; I literally felt like I was in a constant state of panic the whole time. I don't want to become agoraphobic but sometimes I feel like staying at home is just easier.

Anyway here's the poem. I know that reading something relatable helps me when I'm down. Just knowing that I'm not alone in the world makes me feel less like an outcast.

Waltzing with Anxiety

We dance, twirl

as your music plays.

Swept along by your

haunted melody.

I run, I flee,

I try to escape.

And yet you still manage

to have your say.

It's a waltz you've crafted

to fit your twisted ways.

Skimming across the dance floor,

you put my worries on display.

Wearing that huge smile,

that grotesque grin.

You whisper softly in my ear,

"You know I'll always win.

I am your worst enemy

and yet your closest friend.

I know all your secrets.

I tell you this won't end."

And slowly I am overcome,

slowly I submit.

Trying my hardest to hold on.

Trying not to quit.

The power you hold over me

is something I don't want.

But I can't seem to run from you;

I fear I'm too far gone.

No matter how much I fight

you always have the lead.

And I'm just dragged behind,

counting. . .

One two three

One two three

We dance, twirl

as your music plays.

Swept along by

your haunted melody.

I run, I flee,

I try to escape.

And yet you still manage

to have your say.

[mrmonk]

The first thing I thought of when I saw the title of your post was Theodore Roethke's devastating poem, "My Papa's Waltz." So, I was very pleased to find you posted your poem!

Poetry makes me feel less alone, too -- at least, the poetry that moves me most. I have a particular interest in reading poems that grapple with mental illness.

Anyway, thank you for sharing your poem, EchoSounding. A potent metaphor for those of us in the thrall.

[EchoSounding in reply to mrmonk]

Thank you for taking the time to read my poem. It is greatly appreciated. Most of my poetry is about my battle with anxiety. I might share more later. Maybe they can help explain to someone without anxiety what it's like to struggle with it.

[mrmonk in reply to EchoSounding]

My pleasure! I hope to read more of your work in the future. I think that's one of the wonderful things about poetry -- it allows us to see the world through other people's eyes, thereby enriching our own experience. How long have you been writing? Do you have any favorite poets?

[EchoSounding in reply to mrmonk]

I will be sure to share some more then. And I completely agree. It's always fascinating to glimpse into someone else's mind.

I've been writing since I was in Kindergarten although you can imagine the childish tales that were created. Much happier and making a lot less sense. I'm almost 26 so for about 20 or so years now.

I love Edgar Allan Poe and I've read a few bits of T.S. Eliot and Sylvia Plath. Also there is this one poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox I believe that I fell in love with but fail to remember the name of it at this time. I also absolutely adore Shel Silverstein. His works always manage to pull me back when I'm in a dark place no matter how many times I read them. Do you have any favorite poets?

[mrmonk in reply to EchoSounding]

Thank you for your reply; I apologize for taking so long to respond. I've been overly anxious and tired the past few days. Though I did make some strides, too, starting therapy for the first time in many years, and finishing a poem for my sister's birthday.

I was also young when I started writing creatively, elementary-school age when I wrote my first poem. And "The Raven" was the start of everything for me.

You see, I loved monsters as a kid, especially movie monsters -- The Wolf Man, The Creature From the Black Lagoon, Godzilla ... I couldn't get enough of them. I continuously checked out a paperback edition of Daniel Cohen's "Super-Monsters" in the children's floor of my local library, mostly for the pictures of my favorite film fiends. Then, one day, I joined my mother in the adult section on the ground floor of the library. What a gold mine! They had these HUGE over-sized books with TONS of screen grabs from every decade of horror movie history. Turning the giant pages, I came to the 1960s section and encountered stills of the great Vincent Price in some of the Roger Corman adaptations of Edgar Allan Poe works, like "The Pit and the Pendulum," "The Fall of the House of Usher," and, yep, "The Raven." So, of course, I then sought out everything I could find on Edgar Allan Poe, including a collection of his complete works, a book thick as a cement block (and almost as heavy). I tried reading the stories, but they made no sense to my little kid brain; "The Raven," on the other hand, that was a revelation. Aloud, I read "And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain / Thrilled me..." and was I ever thrilled! The sounds just ricocheted in my head, like a pinball, setting off a million little lights. It changed me forever: from then on, I was a poet.

Then, came "The Bells," and "Annabel Lee," and on and on to other poets, other enticing sounds. The poets whose work I love the most and read over and over again are Donald Justice, Philip Larkin, and Sir John Betjeman. But it all started with Poe.

Betjeman is a delight to me, I guess the way Shel Silverstein is to you (I haven't read much of Silverstein's work, but I am familiar with "A Boy Named Sue," courtesy of Johnny Cash). He was a "popular" poet in Britain, much the way Ella Wheeler Wilcox was in the United States. The critics were not kind to either of them, but my attitude is "I don't care -- I like what I like." lol

Incidentally, T.S. Eliot was Betjeman's grade school teacher! I haven't read all of Eliot's work, but some of it, like "The Hollow Men," just takes the top of my head off. Also, I love Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats!

Another poet I really enjoy is Elizabeth Jennings. She wrote a book called The Mind Has Mountains, which deals with mental illness. Speaking of which, you don't get a much more harrowing depiction in verse of a mind in distress than Plath's late collection, Ariel.

I'm sorry for the extra long post, but I'm pretty isolated right now, and don't have many friends to talk to about this sort of thing -- I find it takes the edge off the anxiety a little to do so at night when I'm not sleeping.

Feel free to message me if you'd like to talk more about writing and/or anxiety.