The Shrinking

My glass house shrinks.

Or so my dramatic mind whines.

Living with chronic anxiety is often like huddling in a hut of brittle windows, nothing but a faint pane of glass between you and the big, bad monster of the world.

There are no shades, no curtains, no blinds to hide the horrors from your ever-widening eyes.

You shiver and shake and pray. And that’s all you do.

Lately, the imagined beasts seem closer, my house closing-in.

Oh, I know it’s just a phase, a spot in time that will be over before I blink, but still…

I’d like to blink now.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe, the stubborn nut in the hut

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