~ Written by Danielle N. Bilski ~

F e a r l e s s

if someone asked me what anxiety feels like:

to me, it feels as if a life-changing answer is written on a piece of paper that has been folded in half and in half again. every time i tried to unfold it to read what is inside, i realised i was refolding it closed and the cycle keeps repeating, over and over. i could not relax until i knew what the answer was, but the more i tried to reach it, the further away i was keeping myself from it.

for months, i carried that note around tucked into my clothes, closely against my heart. when i had a shower, i left it on the bathroom sink where i could see it. i slept with it tucked under my pillow every night. i clutched it tightly in my hand, because i was afraid to let it out of my sight.

i was so incredibly tired of fighting a losing battle against my own mind, but i was constantly being reminded of my powerlessness.

anxiety makes your breathing feel heavy.
anxiety makes life feel exhausting.
anxiety makes the chase feel endless.
anxiety makes it difficult to see clearly.

∞

if someone asks how i overcame my anxiety:

one morning, in sheer frustration, i tore that note into tiny pieces like confetti and threw it in the air. they drifted to the carpet, scattered across my mattress. for a moment, i sat on the bed and stared at a rainbow spot on the wall where sunlight was glistening off a glass of water on my night stand. the kaleidoscope danced as curtains fluttered while i collected each piece of paper in my hand. outside the back door, i sprinkled them into the rubbish bin.

later, when i picked up the glass, beside it was a piece i had missed. i read the answer: my deepest fear.

so, in red lipstick, i wrote the word on the outside of a clean glass. i scrolled it across the steam-fogged bathroom mirror. i spelled it in magnets on the fridge door. on my bedroom window i marked it in white candle wax. i printed my fear with chocolate sauce on my phone screen. i drew bubble letters of pink chalk on the driveway. with daffodils from the garden arranged across my car dashboard. in red pen on the back of my hand.

all day, i faced my fear as the word gradually smeared, melted, and eventually disappeared.

i am tucking a slip of paper beneath my head at night. i do not fold it. it states my purpose of my life. for the first time in months, i now dream.

i can breathe.
my life is a kaleidoscope.
i keep running.
i see myself: fearless.

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