Anxiety Group - Catalina Ferro
There is a German satellite falling to earth.
She says, “What if it hits me?
Welcome to anxiety group:
the kingdom of the sweaty palm and
the jiggling leg
where the women
wrap themselves up tight
where the men bite nails
We are the magnifiers of molehills
we are the princes of panic
the ambassadors of anguish.
there is no pride here.
we like the discipline of the eating disorder group
lack the self-righteousness of bereavement group
and we’re not as fun as procrastinators anonymous
nobody wants to be here.
Me? I don’t sleep, can’t sleep
I make insomnia look professional
your tossing and turning look like
the longest I’ve gone is nine days
went literally insane
sleep deprivation is a form of torture
you know and I do this to myself.
Melatonin makes me sad,
Benadryl is for amateurs,
hypnotics turn off the lights too quickly
and weed makes me crazy.
Diazepam, lorazepam, bromazepam, alprazolam
Klonopin is the only thing that works and
they’re weaning me off it so
like a baby forced to remove breast
from mouth, take bottle instead,
I got sent to anxiety group.
And apparently, we’re all going to die
because while the girl on my left worries
that the satellite will hit her,
the woman to my right worries
that it will hit a nuclear power plant
and then we’re all fucked.
My father says only rich people
go to therapy,
poor people got shit to do and
yet here I am in this life boat
surrounded by 8 of the most
beautiful crazy ass mother fuckers
the world has ever seen.
What if it’s not just a mole,
what if it’s a flesh-eating virus?
What if I fail at life?
But what if it really is the rapture this time,
what if they hit us again?
What if I wake one morning
to see planes scraping skies again
what if it’s me this time? and I think
it must be exhausting to
want to live this much.
Fuck the depressives,
fuck the body image meditation group
fuck sex addicts anonymous
give me your tired your poor your anxious
your huddled masses yearning to breathe deeply
and count to ten.
Give me this collection of
blurted confessions of
psychosomatic itch of
twitch and tick and stutter and sweat.
Give me these weak-kneed
jumpy ass, too much saliva,
break out in hives, awkward stomach,
hair falling out, chewing lips,
restless leg pounding, hot bastards
any day of the week.
These people who fight through
every day like fucking gladiators
who fight demons worse than
you and I can dream up
just because they want so badly
to live, to hold on, to love
because you can’t be this afraid of
if you don’t love everything first
because you have to have
a soul-crushing hope
that things will get better
to be this afraid of missing it.
We are not one single person, nor are we five plus
individuals. We share the same body, at times aware of each other within it. Our perspectives and emotions bleed through to one another creating an experience that is neither parts to one whole nor several individuals. That kind of singular logic fails to summarize our experiences as multiples in this system. A Venn Diagram comes closer, though we are not a finite set.