I have always been the anxious sort which is a difficult thing to admit. I often think I was carved out of anxiety, small, ivory coloured bones scored and polished with fear whilst folded into my mothers womb so that when I left, eventually, it would be as a captive of an over-worked nervous system. For a long time … Continue reading The Lump of Anxiety.
Sleep, those few hours curled up, when although nightmares keep you company, there is a reprieve as you can't think in your dreams. You wish that the Buddhist idea of observing ones thoughts was comparable to non wakefulness, easier to be a spectator, a passive observer when the body lies still. It's not the persistent … Continue reading Vegetables
She heard, wincing, she always hears. When she was young, her mother used to ask if she was listening, angrily taking a swipe at her, with her short, stubby fingers. Are you listening she would demand, shattering the silence. Her mother had always wanted nice fingers, piano fingers she called them, elegant and long, the … Continue reading An Essay on Social Anxiety