Explaining Anxiety To My Grandmother


United States
36° 35' 33.7092" N, 86° 12' 57.06" W

Anxiety is irrational Nana, but you can't understand can you?

I cool my impatience like an ice cube on my tongue, remembering she's no longer young.

Remenbering she's from a time where the line between mentally ill and crazy didn't exist.

There were no advocates, no one to insist that we just needed help.

No doctors researching our problems, trying to solve them.

We were labeled like Nutrition Facts, us with our anxiety attacks. 

Depression, suppressing the seductive call to end our lives.

We were exiled for miles, as if you could catch it like some disease.

Then someone was brave enough to see that we just needed help.

Things changed, ideas were rearranged.

We learned to trust, and society found a place for us.

We were counceled and treated, understanding replacing what was once beaten out of us

We gained confidence, realizing our struggles were no coincidence.

They were there to make us stronger.

So I try to make my fuse a little longer with my grandmother.

After all, she's an angel, I don't know what I'd do without her.


This poem is about: 
My family
My community
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 


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