Anxiety Goes for a Swim

    I wake up soaked in sweat. If I had slept in a minute later I likely would have drowned at the hands of my own body trying to help itself out.
    Forever thankful for the morning because she always makes sure my memories blur away into a dense fog, hands them to the moon before my mind can even begin to meander through the dreams of the previous night.
    Swamped into the mattress and flooding as I write, there’s already enough saltwater to fill a swimming pool, and then some. The pearl-sized droplets packed with panic form an ocean around me as I slowly fall into the still role of Island, prone to natural disasters, I pity myself for a few minutes, then stop.
    I get out of bed. I take a shower.