The Problem Is

The problem is leading with my brain instead of my heart.

The problem is that I’ve lost control of my life, my identity, my body.

The problem is that my self esteem has been beat down to nothing. My body is broken. My brain is not trustworthy or at least it would seem so.

The problem is that I’ve deleted paragraphs and paragraphs because I’ve got problems that I can’t publicize.

The problem is that I’m leading with my heart, instead of my brain.

The problem is that there is no pill that I can get hold of that will take away emotions without side effects.

The problem is that being a wife takes much more strength that I have.

The problem is that I feel that I’ve been allowing the Anxiety to win. I’ll allow it to think for me, talk for me and feel for me. Only in the aftermath of a breakdown do I realize that the anxiety spoke for me. And she’s a nasty bastard.

The problem is I feel that the Anxiety weakens me as it reaches for control. It’s like a shark trying to caress a lamb with its teeth. The aftermath will always be chum. And cleaning up chum is impossible.

The problem is that; as I try to maintain some control over my identity, my life, my choices I find that I cannot do any of these things.

The problem is my wants, my desires, my needs all hinge on permissions from my provider.


The problem is that my Anxiety is my intuition and it is pinging out of control.

The problem is that my whole body is at war with my soul. I dream, literally, of ways to die. One night it was a wood chipper. Last night, it was a bottle of pills and a forest.

The problem is; the only reason why I stick around can’t love me enough to be truthful.

The problem is that I’m at a point in my life that I don’t feel like being second.

The problem is; I’m too old for this.

The problem is all we really have in this life is honesty and integrity and everything else is just fluff. We learn this way too late in life, after the chum.

The problem is that; the Christians will tell me that God allows all of this… my pain, my shitty life, my privileged life, my anxiety, my grief, my intuition, my bias for truth.  Thanks ya’ll and thank you God for allowing me to live in such agony. God will be God. Can’t hate him for being who He is. No amount of prayers will change His will. So, please, don’t bother.

The problem is the choices that I have:

fight another battle, live another day, brave another fight, breathe another breath, dare to trust?

yeah, because my heart will just keep on beating, my lungs will keep pumping and I’ll just keep going… until I won’t because the problem is that I’ve lost all control.


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