The Philosophy of Being Anxious

Nietzsche counted his year/month/day portioned into sighs (did he?), he felt pressure building inside his head and jaw lock dropped/ he bottom dropped out, rubbing fingers over his temples built with altars of of worry he worried away at his skull to give way/ let out the dark. When Nietzsche knelt in the shower, water pressure drilling through his brain, what god was he kneeling to/is there a god/is god dead?


Your apologies to Heidegger, you have never read a piece of philosophy describing an anxiety attack/ describing you in the anxiety attack/ describing the you that is not othered by the Big Other, apologies to Lacan, you are Othering yourself/Expelling yourself

Apologies

You don’t know how to 20th century theorize this, you are Othered by yet another description of the White Man’s Anxiety and — apologies, apologies

apologies

Are you more fragile than you have been before/ more brittle than you have been before?/ you are hysteria dead dropping away, you will write your anxiety into pages, it eats at you like a wandering wound


— wound me again, I swear to god (your fucking absent patriarchal figure has always been dead),

 

I refuse to live inside a constant state of anxiety, you can da sein the fuck away from me @Heidegger, I will write libraries about the anxiety of people who look like me —

 

(apologetically anxious. apologies)

you

are too tired

to move from the shower

you will spend a lifetime in this shower

u will drown

lying on the floor of this shower blood bubbling up u are bubbling u lie with water rising to ur lips something bubbles u breathe

water drowned

Next generation will come out the womb and when their mothers pick them up to kiss/ love/smite them, their bodies will disintegrate and the mothers will take home writing, pulsing masses of anxiety (I am pulsing and it is not sexy but anxious, I am pulsing towards the edge of being voided, not sexy but anxious, fucking fight me Freud) we could power/destroy the whole world with that sort of energy.

U wndr if u r dying

smthng slthrs frm ur throat not a breath but a scream

Water pours hot boiling from the showerhead and maybe it douses Kierkegaard and maybe it digs its nails into the back of his neck and maybe he’s into it. He pulses towards the void. Maybe he can’t breathe and maybe he can’t breathe because he thought of the possibility of not breathing and maybe and maybe and maybe he could pretend to feel water warmed and maybe–

u liv brained u liv wtrloggd

u stare at the whiteness of ur shower wall, holding ur skull with pressure building inside ur temples in a garbage dump somewhere lies the only philosophical manifesto written on anxiety attacks and u see urself in it, non white man philosopher because u tried to write it tried to describe ur body what ur body was doing but u just kept writing choke and choke came out in every choking sentence u choke what does it mean to be anxious but choke and choke and choke and choke and cho

Aplgies

by Sarah ‘Sam’ Saltiel | Featured Image by Wellington | Artwork by Natacha Palay

Sarah 'Sam' Saltiel

Sarah "Sam" Saltiel is a queer nonbinary transmedia artist, writer, and game designer based in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Her work generally addresses the question of what it means to be a body in space, specifically as that pertains to intersections and erasures of gender and mental illness. She has been published by Riza Press, Duende, and Thoreau's Rooster, among others. She has published two poetry chapbooks, "a long exposure of undoing" and "a thesaurus for the way water returns". To check them out, as well as the rest of her work, check out her website: https://www.sarahsamsaltiel.com/webstore