A Falling Cup

You know that feeling when you drop something.

It seems like an eternity but in that split second the universe stops. Every muscle in your body charges to action as you gasp what must be your final breath on this mortal coil.

There’s the slimmest of chances that you might avert the inevitable, to save your favourite mug before it smashes into a million pieces. Some porcelain chunks will be large enough to be easily disposed of, but others, the tiny shards are a different story. They will dodge each bristle of your brush and pass of the vacuum, and are so stealthy that they will only reappear the next time your significant other passes barefoot.

Basically you’ve had it.

In that instant, in your cocktail of fear and dread, you are holding your breath and you are trapped in the moment. Can you imagine someone asking what you fancy for dinner?

Or how you are doing?

If you want to go for a walk?

To go to the pub?

To reply to a text or to talk on the phone?

To plan tomorrow?

To think of anything above, beyond or around whether or not you are going to catch this bloody mug?

The sheer paralysis of the now trumps everything else, and whilst it might be just a mug, in that moment there is nothing else.

For me, this is how anxiety feels. It’s how anxiety looks as it grips those around me. The mug might be falling for an hour, it might be a week, for some it’s a decade, and I fear some people may feel this way for their lifetime.

Please take care of yourselves and those around you. If someone seems too busy to do anything, they probably need your help and your love.

Stay safe x