feeling anxious - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Some are scared of clowns, some of heights or falling. I am not scared of any of that - not spiders, not snakes, or the dark. What scares me is being forgotten. You always have someone there, whether it's family, friends, strangers or professionals. That's not what I mean. I'm afraid that when I die that time itself will forget me; that I'll live an unimportant life surrounded by people who will go down in the history books. I am afraid that despite all the good I do, I'll still be no-one.
There were times I felt like the world was slowly disappearing in front of me. Or maybe it was just me who was fading away. Those moments it didn't mattered anyway. Because my empty burning lungs and my heart hitting my chest so hard I thought it will break my ribs and rip apart my skin were the only thing I could think about.
And the void. The black hole in my head, deep inside my soul, slowly swallowing all my hopes and dreams. That was the worst of those moments. The realization of the vacuum, the nothingness, the absurd of my existence.
Those times kept me awake at five a.m. and made me wonder: why am I living for anyway?
Maybe for me. Maybe for others. Did it really matter?
And when I couldn't find my answers on the ceiling, the anxiety turned into panic.
His slender fingers pressed into the skin of his forearms, nails biting in the layer of fine dust, drawing beads of blood. His whole body shook, bones rattling in the constant fear of the future that loomed before him. Heart pounding so hard against his ribcage as his pulse pressed outward, jerking the veins within.
What loomed before he fear, was trailed behind made him sad and in no way could he stay rooted in the present when the time would just push ahead.
I am watching them but appearing not to, my heart is hammering but I keep my gait casual with no hint of hesitation. They can’t know about what happened in the park, not about my part in it anyway. To them it’s just a suspected Running Blade hit and I have no gang affiliation. My mind flickers back to the pack I’m carrying. Perhaps they’ll try to get it. Typically they don’t do that anymore, they get their wares by extorting market holders and, as I learnt today, selling kidnapped kids. I know from recent experience that it’s hard to even give a kid away, well, hard if you want them to be loved and cared for. So whatever the fates of those kids it isn’t good. These guys will walk right by me, they do it to assert dominance, show their fearlessness, and I can’t even draw my blade.
Found in Darwin's Ghost - first draft, authored by .
My heart twisted and sunk with nerves as I sat in front of the computer. The white light enveloped me, coldly, as I shook. My breaths came in sharp pants and I tried to gain control, but nothing was working. It hurt. It HURT! I tried to breath calmly, but every time I looked up those cruel, horrible, necessary words were there. Words I had known long before the page had loaded. Words I had waited for with anxiety and worry, knowing, somehow, what they might say.
Slowly, the panic and anxiety attack flowed away, and yet I still shook. My eyes, closed and aimed towards my clasped hands, slowly opened. Trepidation swelled through me as I slowly raised my eyes yet again to the steadily shining screen.
When one gets older, anxiety tends to focus on different things, things like job security, or how do I pay all the bills this month?
But as a young lad, I recall feeling anxious, when I realised the ball I'd just booted, was headed straight for the neighbour's window, or that the ditch-water was deeper than the tops of my wellies.
"You hide behind your words. You want your words to mask the real you. I see you feel compelled to hide behind a false identity. What are you afraid of?"
"You want a true identity, Doctor? What is that? I am many people in one body. And you know what? I have carefully molded each of them. In these identities, I play a part that people expect. I become a reflection of what they want. I am Joyful to one, and serious to another. I am whoever they want me to be."
"Do you you hide your self from everyone?" Are you hiding now?
"As I sit here in your office, I know that you want to help me. You hope to journey to the real me. Yet, I don't know. I've never been to me."
"I will walk beside you and help you find this real self, your mysterious inner self."
"But, Doctor, I am afraid to search for her. What if she turns out to be a horrible beast, a raving monster?"
"Then, I shall help you either win over or tame her."
I tried to stay calm as my eyes met Branston's slumped form. He wasn't moving and he was bleeding profusely from his head. I reached for him, the seat belt telling me that I couldn't go any farther. I quickly took it off, grabbing him in my arms. I felt numb as tears gathered behind my eyes. The car was nearly rubble at our feet, but I didn't care. With trembling fingers, I dialled 911.
I could drown in this air, suffocate in the chlorinated humidity that rises above the water. People move past, trapped in their own heads as I am in mine. Children laugh, tantrum, cry or whine. I see their parents react: placating, frustrated, sometimes warm. I could be on Mars or else invisible, but I'm neither. I'm right here, bare feet on the mopped white tile. Once I was here at this pool so early in the morning the surface was perfectly flat, glassy. Not now though, now it's choppy; the mosaics of the walls and the beach paraphernalia hanging form the rafters are reflected in tiny fragments of colour that remind me of the autumn to come in a few months. Somehow I wonder if those fall leaves will ever come. Each day draws out so long and thin that I am surprised when the sun finally sets.
My eyes fall to the surface once more. I want to be in that water, under it, gliding dolphin-like to the tiles below more than my next breath. The coolness will bring me to the present like nothing else. In those perfect moments I can forget the past, cease to analyze the future. I wont worry about who I am, who I will become, who I might never be. In its watery embrace there is only the present, nothing more. Underneath the surface I can escape the dull drag of gravity. It is as free as I've ever experienced in my seventeen years; nothing else comes close.
The music grew louder as we approached the front door, my heart rate quickly surpassing the rhythmic beat coming from inside. It stopped beating completely as Spencer knocked, my stomach dropping to the ground and rolling down the hill we’d just climbed.