Anxiety.

Anxiety.  Even the word is jagged.  

That feeling that you’re about to go on stage to be questioned by people that want to catch you out and you know you don’t know the answers and you can’t think straight enough to know if you can even talk your way out of it.

Butterflies and nerves and jittering sickness take over.

Your mind can’t settle on one clear image or phrase, they all flash to and fro clashing with each other and becoming shattered piles of lost responsibilities taunting you from the corners of your consciousness.

Without realising it your nails are denting your skin and your jaw is aching from the tight clench which simply won’t make the situation settle the hell down.

Futility rears its head over your shoulder, promising that if you just go back to bed and close your eyes it will all pass.  You are completely convinced that it will be better if only you can squeeze it all out of your shut tear soaked eyes.

The beating of your heart is so loud everyone must be able to hear it and know how weak you are being.  Your blood vessels decide to wreak havoc with your lungs, daring them to stop then race a while.  

You're being stolen from but you can't stop it and you can't even shout for help.

The in and out of breathing, which you frantically tell yourself is usually so simple, becomes a task that requires massive attention.  Panic overtakes each breath as the next seems out of reach and as you breathe too fast and too shallow you think you may not survive this internal onslaught.  

Soon you are in a battle with breathing, wrestling for control.  Nails dig in holding on to sanity as it seemingly dissipates with every thundering thump the heart hurls through your body.

It will pass.  It always does.

But that doesn’t mean you’ve won.