An Anxiety Attack, Composed by John Phillip Sousa

I take a moment to try to slow my thoughts and hands, finding a second to notice the irony when my physical ticks match up with the hands of the clock in front of me going second to second. I watch the slow, silent, percussive beats of the clock, trying to match my breath in a slow quarter time to the seconds ticking by. But, all my lungs want to do is push past a double time march with Sousa flailing madly behind the baton, beating the air as if it were the last surviving pieces of my reasoning.

My God, do I hate Sousa.

The sharp trills and runs of the woodwinds flying through each of the responsibilities hanging over my head, building in dynamic to the impending crash of cymbals upon my subconscious on the big hit of the melody lines.

The big bold booming tubas blowing out my brains with the thoughts: "Your parents believe in you, they want you to be happy, but how can you make them proud if you disappoint yourself every day?"

The baritones and mellophones come in next: "Your friends love you, your girlfriend loves you, but how can you be worthy of their love if you're not even sure if you love yourself?"

Then the trumpets, screaming and blaring over the entire band: "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN DOING WITH YOUR LIFE?"

And soon the piece climaxes, the band screaming in full brassy tones that send earthquakes of tremors and shakes through your body, completely smashing the Richter scale under the massive weight of my anxiety.

[stop time]

But then you pull me into your arms. You wrap me up tightly, and just when I feel like my body is about to rattle apart- you hold me together. You lay my head on your chest, and my breathing slows down to match the rhythmic beating of your heart.

My God, do I hate Sousa.

But my God, do I love you....