Anxiety Beyond Control

I want to be patient.

I want to breathe before I crash.

But sometimes I wonder

do I want patience

or do I just want control?

I’m always leading,

always directing the rhythm of the day,

as if silence means danger,

as if letting go means collapse.

Every ounce of discomfort

sets off alarms.

I get restless,

sharp,

short.

People feel me at my worst

and think it’s about them,

but it isn’t.

It’s the weight of my own unease,

the fight between control and chaos,

the panic of not steering the wheel

even when I don’t know where I’m going.

I don’t mean harm.

I’m just trying to manage

what feels unmanageable.

And maybe one day

I’ll learn that control

isn’t peace,

it’s the fear of losing it.