Here it is:

Eyes a poison yellow

Breath reeking and choking.

Scales like knives and skin hugging bones.

It jerks,

Jitters,

Jumps.

Anywhere, everywhere.

They call it Anxiety.

 

There is another.

It is not a small thing like the other.

Heavy paws with razor claws,

Stringy fur: strangles, stifles.

On my shoulder it perches,

On my chest it sleeps.

This one, I name.

Depression.

 

Here is a woman:

Not a white coat, but a pencil skirt.

'This will help', she says.

Papers.

Breathing.

I turn away from her.

I limp, I slouch.

I am a beast of burden for the beasts that are my burden.

 

Another, this time a man.

His face is weathered, kind.

'How's my child of God?'

Good, I say.

'What is that on your shoulder?'

Nothing, I lie.

I'm fine, I say.

The breath from beneath the Yellow Eyes closes my throat.

I put on my smile-mask.

Away I go again.

 

There is nothing ahead,

Nothing behind.

I cannot see beyond the strangle, the fur, the claws.

I bleed from their marks.

I hide it.

 

Silently, it comes.

From within,

Standing beside.

No black fur.

No pointy teeth.

It is who I am in my dreams.

You are lost, it says, it a quiet voice.

But,

You will not always be.

With a stick-fingered hand,

It plucks a sharp scale.

Anxiety wriggles away, and the dream-me vanishes.

 

Now, I see.

I reach.

My hand catches the end of Depression's tail.

It takes everything, like Atlas pushing against his burden.

Will everything I have,

I pull.

Off comes a few wisps of midnight hair.

 

Now I know.

I am a beast of burden for beasts that should not be my burden.

 

Many days, many struggles.

Now I am here.

Depression now fits in my pocket,

Anxiety is smooth and too weak to hurt most days.

 

In the end, It was a fight,

But it was mine.