I go through periods of my life where I can't go a day without crying. I don't drown in a puddle of my own tears, but it rises up. It closes my throat. My cheeks become hot and the tears leave trails down them.
It hits all of a sudden and I try to compose myself, I try to tell myself that it's the anxiety I have been dealing with my whole life sneaking up on me. It's the familiar feeling that is the prelude to a panic attack and if I just concentrate on breathing, there will be tears, but I don't have to fall apart.
While that usually helps, there are days when I cannot go online and joke around with my friends or be upbeat.
There are times when those secret pep talks do not work, and the seams break.
It is my anxiety. It is always there in the background. It is not a positive thing in my life. I can turn it into writing, I can funnel the energy of it into something visceral. Since the first grade I have been weaving like a spider in a doorway. I create webs to catch it, I have tools to try to control it.
A web can't withstand winds that are too strong.
This is my anxiety.
I can't force it to be positive.
I can't make it beautiful.