No man is an island, entire of itself...
But this woman sits on her island, within an island, afraid to dip her toes in.
The safety zone expands, slowly. With help.
Forcing myself to walk slower, not to hurry away like a suspect at the scene of a crime.
The leaves fall everywhere; feels like the sky is falling in.
And everything is so loud and bright away from my island.
My ears ring from a simple trip to the outside world.
I'm relieved to be back in the muted colours of my house.
In the quiet.
In here I can control the volume.
The word "anxiety" feels like an understatement for the feelings of catastrophe that creep into my brain.
It's hard not to think that I myself am a catastrophe.
One that can't be helped anymore.
