There is no start, there is no finish

my anxiety ambles at the top of my inhale

and the bottom of my exhale

there is no start

there is no finish

it has always been

as a kid my nightmares were often of towering tornados tromping their way through my town to my house terrorizing my family

I would awaken in a pool of sweat

the air in my room fumigated with the scent of my anxious mind

these nightmares followed me

often becoming an episodic

spanning the unconscious hours of my nights

picking up where they left off

I was so scared to exist in a world where the very air around me could swirl into the black fury of my dreams

I was scared to not have control

scared I’d lose it all

I even knew tornados were not a reasonable fear where I lived

but my fears persisted

and every spring when the tornado warning alert glowed blue on our TV, my anxiety amplified itself in my chest

clutching white knuckled to my windpipe

eventually the fear of tornados dissipated

but I often wonder

did little me know some ominous storm brewed just under the surface around her?

was I so intuitive as a child to see the funnel forming?

the anxiety in each breath knows the depth of little me’s intuition

but not the release of control

I am not in control of the outcome

and the tornado is beyond me.