Anxiety is an Elevator

In times of trial anxiety becomes an elevator with no defined bounds, stationed in a liner continuing from your mind to your stomach. It raises between levels and transports contents from here to there. Sometimes it starts to head too low in the stomach. Like a sinking rock, it falls farther and farther and its weight grows with every inch. Sometimes, such as now, the elevator rises so high it chokes the breath right out of you. It clogs your senses, and becomes dizzyingly sickening with how sharp it’s corners continue to raise in your throat. Sometimes one of the riders of this elevator pulls the damn emergency break right in the middle of your chest. All the alarms ringing through you, like lighting to the nerves. And this heavy clunky objects sits, unmovable in the center of your chest and again you can’t breath for entirely different reasons.

Anxiety is an elevator.