Without explanations.

Occasionally, I have an anxiety attack. Shows I’m not perfect. I hate to admit. That I ever become anxious. Rather have everyone think that I’m always in full control. But I suspect. That most people have anxious moments. Imagined fears. That all is not right. And perhaps disaster looms around the corner. Lately, I’ve been having anxiety. For no apparent reason. Which probably means something hidden in my fragile psyche.  Though I’m told, it could be the result of an overactive thyroid gland. Always. Always. Some kind of explanation. Maybe it would be better. If I learned to get on with life. Without explanations. --Jim Broede