Her face was just like all the rest,
on pick up time at three.
The adrenaline that had twisted thick,
buried for a spell.
The anguish of the morning,
the torment of the night.
The constant torture of anxiety,
that steals family time.
It even creeps upon us at weekends,
when we’re trying to forget.
She tosses and turns every bedtime,
needing a parent’s close presence.
Her body sending messages,
of chemical potency.
Turning her stomach into iron knots,
her mind into a throbbing ball of pain.
There is no magic book of answers,
even the professionals are surprised.
The magnitude of her anguish,
the irrationality of her mind.
Her body in full fight or flight,
yet the predator is not what it seems.
There is no need to do either,
but her mind is plagued with doubt.
© Sarah Lee, 8 September, 2013