Worry Worries

I didn’t know it had a name.

The feeling in the pit of my stomach associated with the endless ruminations associated with the limitations inherent in being finite.

Finite. Limited. Bound.

By all the things I cannot change.

My worry has a name.

They call it anxiety. The phenomenon of living in a state of activation due to an undeniable sense of impending doom. Doom that has not been verified but is in every sense real. True. Possible! PROBABLE!! The threat response that cannot be turned off, even when the threat has passed. The exhausting, crushing weight of uncertainty.

My worry has a name. They call it anxiety. I call it Shadow. Ever-present. Shapeshifting. Sometimes helpful. All times dark.

What do you call yours?