Anxiety is poison for your mind and soul, take that.
Despite having three, newly bought, master pieces of human genius infront of me, I could not muster the courage to pick up a book and start reading. There’s no justified reason, why. I just couldn’t. My mind wasn’t with me. A thousand and hundred different thoughts and worries had occupied my mind. They were not voluntary spontaneous overflow of emotions, they were just an involuntary outflow of apprehensive ruminations.
Unconsciously, to my surprise, I started musing about the possibilities and impossibilities of a tomorrow that I can’t even control. Daydreaming is something very different from what I had to go through. Now that I recall, it wasn’t a happy place to be. The thoughts made me uncomfortable, almost gasping for breath, hoping for an escape from the cage that our mind is. The uncertainty of life tormented me. What a sadist life is!
It goes unsaid, with worry comes misery. Seems like my unusual bout of anxiety couldn’t suffice for the torment so I had to undergo the misery of re-evaluating my life choices and relive the pain of travelling down the lane of regrets.
More often than not, it becomes unbearable to continue living with the burden of these perpetual, forlorn, thoughts. Every minute of life gets consumed by an unpredictable, unseen, future. The things that define our present hold little meaning when the weight of the unknown is this heavy, overshadowing all scope for respite in our lives.
No wonder I had the audacity to ignore those marvels keenly waiting for me to open them and start reading.