Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

Its anxiety, my old friend
You’ve come to sit with me again
Because a feeling softly does creep
Grabbing hold while I cannot sleep
And the belief that was programmed in my brain
Still remains
Within the hush of silence

In childhood years I walked alone
Slipping into a silent home
Watching other families from afar
My door to comfort was ajar
When my heart was broken by the touch of a trusted one
The poison had just begun
To teach the hush of silence

As time crept I saw
Relatives who knew, maybe more
People talking without speaking out
People hearing without listening to my shout
People singing loud to cover distant cries
No one dared
Disturb the hush of silence

“Fools” said I, “You surely knew

As his pile of victims grew
Hear my words to stop the pain
Take my arms to protect the wain
But my words like anguished pleadings fall
And echoed in the hush of silence

And my family all did turn away
From the fetid god they made
Girls to women gave warning
Generations suffering was forming

And the children said, “The words of the saved
Echo through the love we craved
And still remains
Reminding the whispered hush of silence”

I get anxious in my backyard. If I have a purpose to be out there that I cannot avoid, I soldier through. If avoidance is an option, I lean in. There’s no particular reason, no memory, no scar. Well, there’s this.

So my therapist suggested I take a small step each day, starting against the door jam and allow the anxiety to build to the crescendo in my soul until it eased. Then I could go about my business. I’m training my neural pathways to challenge the anxiety rather than simply manage it. I think that’s what I’m doing.

Apparently, I am a poor tutor to my neural pathways. I made it to the edge of the deck yesterday, my fists clenched with determination to pummel this demon into silence. I looked to the sky, I looked at the leaves in the yard, and I felt that moment when my heart rose triumphantly on waves of serotonin.

Today, I failed. I walked to the edge of my deck, familiar hands gripping meet from the grave. I could hear my labored breathing as I stood still. And found myself retreating to the door, my hand grasping behind me for the comfort of an unlocked handle. I looked to the sky, I looked at the leaves in the yard. I felt nothing but fear, even terror. I slipped back into the house and emailed my therapist as one does in moments of insight between sessions.

I spent the afternoon wrestling with anxiety and panic and more. I could not breath, I could not find release. I was just cocooned in anguish without any sense why. So I took my meds and then a nap. When I woke, I heated dinner and remember cutting my chicken into very small pieces with precision and intent to keep my mind occupied.

Anxiety is a full-time job. Just managing it takes hours upon hours of time. Trying to heal it, to redirect the neural pathways, even more. Frankly, I am tired of simply managing demons that are not my fault. I had hoped my fifties would be the decade I found freedom, but that went startling awry.

I wish I could make people understand how hard this is. To convince them to act for those who have been hushed into submission so they have a chance to live with healthy neural pathways. Don’t weep for me, weep for those who are yet to come and have no choice but to endure.

I’ll weep for me. I”ll take my meds, eat my meals, and figure this out. It might take hours, days, even years. My neural pathways have a therapist ordered reprieve until next week. But I still have to go into the backyard to feed the cats. They draw me outside with hungry eyes and plaintive mews. Sometimes, I clutch my keys the entire time. Sometimes I tilt my face to the sun and sink into the warmth of a deity that doesn’t judge me. Sometimes I just trudge forward.

I changed the words to hush of silence because it is more menacing. Like the Buffy episode ‘Hush’ where the heroes recognize one another. The demons were actively silencing, not encouraging silence. It wasn’t a silence that any of us chose.

When I am anxious, I do not want anyone to walk with me. I want comforting space, not useless words. I don’t want companionship, but I do want company. Don’t remind me there are others, I cannot bear it.

This is my way of saying take it down a few notches. Don’t go away. But don’t manage me. Don’t hush me.

Nablopomo.