Breaking Inside Anxiety

Breaking Inside Anxiety

The news flickers in my chest, loud and urgent.

Every thought a headline, every heartbeat a ticker.

I can’t turn off the scroll, the endless report,

flashing thoughts of what might happen, what can go wrong.

My arms tingle, my neck stiffens,

my eyes wide in the dark.

I am a story unfolding,

that no one else can read.

Every prickle, every scratch, every fleeting shadow

becomes a lead paragraph,

bold, screaming, impossible to ignore.

I trace the lines on my skin,

wondering if this story is mine or the world playing tricks.

Sleep hides from me behind curtains of doubt,

and my chest counts minutes like a news ticker,

each one louder than the last.

I am on every channel, every headline,

the breaking story of my own body tonight.

I close my eyes and the reporters whisper:

“Nothing is urgent, nothing is final,

you are alive, your heart is here, your breath still comes.”

I repeat it like a mantra,

like a slow, measured headline

that softens the breaking news inside me.

And maybe tomorrow the ticker will still run,

but tonight I lie, exhausted and alert,

and I am enough,

even if the world shouts my name

in every red banner and flashing light.

Anxiety is so hard to stop, I just need a good night’s sleep.