to me, anxiety is like a black hole. in the pit of my stomach. it sucks in everything and anything that is good, wringing them into blackness and i can feel them turn into threads being swallowed into me. like some cycle, i feel as if i'll cough up, strings, constantly in the back of my throat; i try to pull them out but more try to crawl out. i can't breathe; i'm gagging. heaving. retching. but all that'll come out is my spit. anxiety has me hunched over, my hands clutching onto my shirt, my fingers searching for an off switch. make it stop. anxiety has a hold on me so tight, even on good days i refuse to pick up a pen to draw. to write. when was the last time i wrote anything? i write to forgive but i can't seem to forgive myself. thinking now, how i haven't written, my hands quake, my throat tightens. anxiety takes away my self-worth and i feel like shit and i don't know why. or maybe i do and i'm just lying to myself because i'm so good at lying to myself when, at the same time, anxiety continues to nibble the back of my ears and tells me i'm shit. man, i suck. round and round, back and forth, i know, i don't know, you got this, no you don't, you're happy, you're not. i imagine what it's like to not wake up to tomorrow. i lie in bed awake at 3, 4, 5am because i refuse to believe tomorrow is today. why (am i breathing). why (do i get like this). why can't i stop?