In the dimly lit corners of my mind, anxiety lurks like a relentless foe, a shadow I’ve tried to outrun, but it always catches up to me. Like a broken record, I’ve played the same song of desperation with the hope that one day the tune would change. The tune is not changing. It’s been years now, and I’ve tried it all: Escitalopram, Sertraline, Buspirone – prescription remedies that came with the promise of relief. I’ve even ventured into the realm of herbal alternatives – Ashwagandha, Kava, Magnesium, and the ever-trendy CBD oil. But nothing has managed to quiet the storm inside my head.
I’ve knelt before the altar of prayers, my whispered pleas rising like smoke, tendrils of hope reaching towards the heavens. But they seem to fall on the deaf ears of a disinterested god. I’ve longed for some divine intervention, a flicker of light in the pitch-black tunnel of my mind. Why, I wonder, am I forced to bear this cross, this unrelenting demon that refuses to loosen its grip?
It’s a maddening paradox, to be both warrior and victim in your own battle. I’ve read stories of triumph and recovery, tales of people who found solace and serenity through the magic of modern medicine. But here I am, standing at the crossroads, faced with the harsh truth that not all battles are destined to end in victory.
The exhaustion weighs on my shoulders, pressing me down, making me feel like Sisyphus, eternally pushing a boulder up a hill, only to watch it tumble back down again. The frustration and disappointment wash over me in waves, drowning any hope I once clung to. I feel abandoned, not just by a higher power, but by my own mind and body, which have turned against me.
The thought of never feeling like myself again is a haunting specter. It’s not just the chemical imbalance in my brain, but a pervasive darkness that has seeped into every corner of my life. I’ve seen my world shrink as anxiety has tightened its grip, closing doors I once had the courage to open.
I’ve resigned myself to the fact that this might be a battle I’ll never win. And yet, as I stand on the precipice of despair, I realize that surrender is not an option. There’s an ember of determination still flickering within me, a stubborn refusal to let this uninvited guest dictate the terms of my existence.
So, where can I turn for support to continue this relentless battle? Maybe it’s in the solace of a journal, the gentle words of this tortured poet.
Despite the medicinal failures, the prayers that seem unanswered, and the relentless foe that won’t be banished, I will press on. I’ll navigate the storm with whatever tools I have at my disposal. For I’ve come to understand that the battle against anxiety is not one that ends in conquest but in resilience. And in resilience, there is a quiet victory that only those who’ve danced with demons can truly appreciate.
Hayden Coombs 