I take great interest in mother earth. I find comfort in holding crystals and reading about their healing capabilities. Their cold, pure beings, wrapped up in my fingertips. We trade warmth and I set them back into the grass to heal themselves, so that they can return to me again.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been filled with deep rage and unsteady anxiety. I’d stay up all night at a friend’s house, bottling up my disinterest and annoyances into my sleeping bag. I would then bring them home. They barely made it through the garage door. It was everywhere, believe me.
It was almost like taking a large bag of trash out. Except the bag was thin and worn with holes in the bottom. It contained black liquid. It was going the wrong direction as well. I wreaked havoc and I never understood where the anger came from or how to make it go away.
My anxiety came in the form of ripping out my hair. At the edge of my hairline, I’d grab a thick lock and yank. Not from the bottom, but from the root. But why? I don’t know. I panicked and it felt like the right thing to do at the time. It only became real when my aunt came over to gift me…Except it wasn’t a special occasion. I got stress balls to hopefully counter my urge to destroy my chances of having thick hair.
Instead of finding faults in the way that my mind works at times, or being ashamed of it, I have chosen to replace my confusion with love. Mother earth always welcomes me into her arms and kisses me with grass stains on my favorite sweatshirt. She recharges my amethyst and citrine. When she’s ready to say goodbye, she freezes my bones.
I still carry around my anxiety. Instead of carrying around my fears in a trash bag, they sink deep into my bag of crystals. I know that when I find myself nervously cracking knuckles, adjusting my glasses, or brushing my hair, something or someone is watching over me. God or the earth or someone cares that I find joy in each day.
Tonight, I have decided that my anxiety may no longer control me.