Sometimes anxious isn’t always about being afraid, or nervous. Sometimes it comes as being neither of those things and panicking about not understanding the new feeling presented. Happy, calm, less afraid…more focused.i can get more anxious just by feeling less?
I try to even make myself panic. I am trying to go back and something makes me stop. It’s me of course, but it still feels like an uncontrollable force that can’t be reckoned with. The same as the one that used to consume me. Maybe my nerve endings are repaired? I had such frayed nerves I often felt like I’d been in a grinder or being pulled on. Stretched beyond my stretch. What repaired them? I tried drinking mushroom powder for several months out of the claim it could do this. Not hallucinating mushrooms, just ground up lions mane. In my coffee every morning. I imagined it going straight to my nervous endings and straightening them out. Mending what I couldn’t mend myself. I’m to the point I can’t drink coffee without mushrooms in it. It gives it an earthy like taste. Like I’m drinking potion. It’s just one big gulp at the end of the cup of grit. And it’s just how I like my coffee now.
Why doesn’t Starbucks sell this option. This addition to coffee. It seems odd to walk in and say you want a triple shot of espresso with a dash of healing soothing mushroom grit. You could ask and the lady would say I’m sorry we don’t sell healing powers just triple mocha, frappe mint, with an extra tall whipped something. I can’t even think of the way to say a drink when I go. I’m not a drink orderer. I can barely handle the pressure of being the one who has to insert my card to be read. I never know when to pull the card out or even when to put it in. Did I accidentally pay for all the drinks on the line? Did I pay at all? Did I mess up the entire system when I pulled the card out to quick? Why won’t she look at me and give me proper card instructions? I have intentionally pulled too far away from windows to even allow myself to reach. I will make weird noises as if it’s extremely difficult to reach. I can’t stretch that far I’m sorry, I’ve been stretched too far too many times. Here’s my card.
Even worse give them cash. I almost never have it but it creates such panic stricken looks from so many when they have to enter to tender change. The machine does all the work so it shouldn’t be difficult. What will happen to all of our cash if we get rid of it? Will it go in a safe? Will we cash it in for not cash and never see it again? It will be a national treasure someday. A place to view the way we worked. Just a room full of money behind a locked door. Would it be a savings account in a way? In case we run out of currency in the form of magnetic waves and strips on cards? Why am I even thinking about cash right now?
I can’t panic so I’m trying to? I can’t get myself to be worked up about a very serious problem. Because I can’t. It’s frustrating me that I read that people who aren’t taking it seriously are selfish. I’m the least selfish person I know. Who gives this person the right to deam that true? Does he know all the people? I am taking it seriously. It caught me in the middle of discovering who I really am and accepting it. It’s a challenge to me. 5 years ago I would be so afraid to leave my house, like they want and just never live my life. I’m taking it very serious i say again. I am just not letting it make me afraid. I don’t have time. In case I die from it.
I found that the calmest I can get is that I recognize I can get to calm. Then I get there and worry I won’t get out of it. I will let my defenses down and get hurt. All my insides and parts are exposed, like when I sleep in the woods. There is no side to turn to to feel safe. I’m a sitting duck. Naked. In the lake and waiting for what’s to come. Except. I don’t think what’s to come is scary. Or what could happen could happen. The duck just does his duck thing and swims and dunks under water, and flies occasionally. He isn’t sitting there waiting to be dead. I don’t know, maybe he is, did anyone ever ask this sitting duck?
We are all so divided. This chaos is creating more chaos in everyone’s already chaos. We couldn’t make a decision agreed on under the best of conditions let alone the worst. My real fear is the lost lives specifically because we are not a United a nation anymore. We are ununited. There is no universal language anymore. We are too many of too many different kinds that no one can see clearly that there is one. Love.
It can be spoken by all, felt, heard, and seen. It’s the one thing that is something everyone can belong to. What if one person says it loud enough for others to hear? What if one person shows or? The feels it, then touches it. It will spread? Where does it stop? Why does it? It can’t seem to spread the way obnoxious viruses do. We are told not to touch and be close so we don’t get sick. But we also can’t feel what we are lacking.
When I spray plants for insects that cause damage I’m also killing the ones who don’t. The insects who eat insects. Even when it says it might not kill them I don’t want to kill them. I shouldn’t get to decide this. But I do. I decide who gets to eat what and who gets to live or die in my little world of growing plants. It bothers me more than it should. I don’t want an insect to suck the life out of my plants and can’t always assume that a beneficial insect can keep up, can control. So I kill. To save my crop. I demand control and I manipulate plants to achieve what I want. It gives me a sense of control in a world that can’t be. I never win. I never get control. At best I sustain a “healthy” crop to only then be put in places that the same vectors I tried to control are welcomed back. In general most insects don’t kill plants they just eat pets of them. The same fungus I managed under a controlled environment is present when the environment is left to its own devices.
So why do I grow plants? Because I love plants. They love me back. It’s a simple relationship that requires a simple relationship. Its a simple love story to me. I can find that universal language I understand. Love is easier to understand when it doesn’t hurt back. When it doesn’t talk back. When it really doesn’t feel back. It’s really a very broken part of me. It is really a place I can’t expose to anyone well. I really am like a sitting duck waiting to be hurt. It’s not a place I can expose all sides of me. It will hurt. How do feathers dry so quickly? When they get wet they seem to dry fast? What happens if you use a blow drier on a duck? Do feathers get frizzy like hair? When they get oily from oil spills it’s difficult to get out. What are feathers made of? Just feathers right? Do they change colors as they get older like our hair does? Or just fall out? When a duck gets wet it just looks smooth not wet. Can they see under water? The same as us. Do they feel like we do? Are they afraid? Why am I thinking of ducks so much? The more I think of ducks the more I think of ducks. Then I don’t have to think of anything else.
Aspenleaf 