Beauty in The Broken Bike

     I love to be creative. I do believe being creative isn't always the best way to deal with my anxiety but I also believe not allowing my creative side time and space can cause an increased level of my anxiety. I need to let it out. Not only do I need to let it out , I need to release it into the world and out of my presence. I feel this way about my art, my poems, my confessions, my tears. I don't want to keep it bottled up anymore.
      I have been keeping my eyes open for a symbolic piece of old trash that I could focus my creative soul on and turn into a treasure. I didn't know what I was looking for but I knew when I found it , I would just know it. Well I found it. A two person bike that is battered and beat and rusted and broken. The original parts are all there but they are weathered and have been put to the test. It is damaged but despite the obvouis neglect and damage that has been done to it over the years, the bike is still capable of being beautiful and redeemed and remade.
     I spent a few days just gazing at the rusted frame of this bike. Maybe I was just becoming familiar with the damage , but somehow I started to see the beauty in it without the imagined fixes. Maybe this bike isn't meant to be restored to its original form. Maybe it's story is worth sharing. The bike itself is not eye striking but with my creative side I can plant beautiful flowers in the basket on the handle bars. I can attach wired boxes to the frame and allow beautiful fruit to  grow. Strawberries and other sweet treats. Maybe the real reason why I love this bike is because I am trying to become familiar with my damage. Maybe I no longer wish to take it away but maybe its time to embrace it. My truth will never change. Only thing that is capable of change is my reaction to my damage. I am not responsible for the trauma and abuse and the neglect but despite all that , it is mine. It is mine because it was left in my life by others whom for some reason cared not for my humanity. Just like that bike I'm forever changed but just like the bike I can still grow beautiful things out of my heart. I am the beautifully broken bike.

So I Ask Myself, How Are You Today Ms. Anxious Annie

So one might ask how is Ms. anxious Annie doing this fine afternoon? Yes one might ask that indeed, but truth is not many are even concerened about the Anxious Annies of the world. We are so many. so many of us shaking in our boots, scared of what's too come. Is it healthy to vent our fears or is it our responsibility to display our faith. If one outweighs the other then who wins the fight and ultimately who looses. I can't loose this fight. I may loose some of the battles but I can deal with that , but the fight I must win. I refuse to loose the moments given to me where pure gold is created in quality of shimmer in the most glorious of light shining down on my  life . Those moments where everything is so perfectly lined up that it becomes your poster child for flash back memories in desperate attempt to regain happiness. Those moments are worth the trip around the mull berry bush. They are. Yes. We are not finished not by a far chance. Life is abundant here and after. Abundant. No one is finished living unless they die within, that happens when you realize no one is asking how Anxious Annie is doing today but instead of dying you step up and say " But I , am asking , I love myself. " Yes. Those moments where breaths become chapters and thoughts becomes stories. Storeis of the human sprit.

I am Ms. Anxious Annie

  I am not sure why I tried to give this blog a cute name. Anxiety is not cute at all. I am learning to use my voice to identify my true conflictions. Anxiety is my struggle. I suffer from anxiety because of PTSD. I am not a war survivor but I survived my own little war. I haven't to fight to stay alive and or run away to avoid getting myself beaten in a long time but that is the thing about PTSD. It shows up after the fact. It is the brains way of trying to deal with the trauma that people once survived. I am working my way through it. It's difficult because I have a lot of anger also. Anger at those who were the cause of so much hurt in my life. So much time has passed and some of these people are dead but the thing is I am still suffering. I am still struggling. I am still waking up feeling your hands around my neck. I have so many monsters and I am determined to make sure they die. So here's to anxiety and all those who understand.

I think we can all agree Anxiety sucks ! I am learning a lot about living with anxiety. It is probably one of the most difficult struggles I have ever been in. The breathing, the tears, the blood pressure, the fear of crowds. Like seriously how do I even attempt to explain the constant battle that is happening inside of me. Anxiety Sucks. Ms. Anxious Annie just needs a quiet moment , not on the out but on the in. A moment to quiet the storm of worry and memory. PTSD Survivors are on my heart this morning. We will make it.