Eyes in the dark

Anxiety has been my constant companion for years, but lately it has been particularly present, striking in even the most mundane moments. This was me trying to capture that feeling.

---

I reach for a cup, and a band tightens around my heart. Fear descends like a storm front, a great black looming mass that overwhelms my mind and mood, drowning out any hint of light. I stand there in the kitchen, one hand against the bench, and just try to breathe.

There is no danger. No tiger lurking in the dark. No sword at my throat. There is only the mundanity of everyday life — the kitchen, cluttered with dirty dishes and shining appliances; the birds outside chirping as they go about their days; the distant murmur of voices yelling at the sports fields around the corner. There is nothing new or unusual or threatening. Just the cool glass in my hand as I turn to the sink, and turn on the tap.

The glass fills and I watch the water rise, swirling around its prison. The water shimmers in the sunlight through the window, and each glint feels like thunder across my nerves. I take a sip, the glass clinking against my teeth, the water feeling ice cold on my tongue and sharp against the inside of my throat, and I force myself to drink until the glass is empty.

It does not help. There is nothing to help. Just a system hunting for eyes in the night, and finding nothing but soft edges and modern conveniences instead.