I can't help but wonder sometimes, what it would be like if my daughter didn't face the daily struggles that she has? 

I wonder how different it would be, whether she would be happy, content, free.

I can't help but wonder why such aggression and violence and inconsolable hysterical crying can overcome her tiny little body in a fraction of a second.

Her body wracked with sobs, her face and hair soaking from sweat and tears, her body and soul have been taken over by this crawling clawing anxiety that robs her of rational thinking and bodily control.

Her arms and legs flailing, kicking anything she can, just to release her mind of the pain and feel it in her body, slapping her own face and pinching and biting her
arms as if she's trying to release this harrowing, inhumane feeling to rid herself of some kind of excruciating pain.

She screams like something is inside of her cutting its way out, tearing her flesh.

She thrashes and throws and trashes and smashes anything or one in her path. 

She is lost, she is not herself, she is someone else. I wish I could help.

She's incoherent; a black fog has descended over her body and stolen her soul. Ripped it to shreds and it lays strewn across the room.

Tiny little pieces of my child, quivering and fragile, shaking on the floor, red faced and blurry eyed, the energy has been sucked from her body and as she lays, sobbing and you stroke her hair, she folds into your body, snuggling into every curve of your being, fitting perfectly, connecting to you like a long lost piece of puzzle that has crumpled at the edges.

All you want to do is lie here with her for an eternity, hold her close, take away her struggles and her fears, release her of her unforgiving anxiety and free her soul.

She needs a rest, her tiny body is tired, and hurt, and she needs to be released from the clutches of anxiety that grip hold of her so tight it’s squeezing every chance at happiness she has and crushing it to a pulp.

It's taking my child. Every week, every month that passes it gets stronger and stronger, as she grows so do its clutches and so does its strength.

It will not release her. It will not give up, for it has taken away the fight in my child and left me with a shell.

Broken. I want her back, I want my child.

But forever I shall fight. And forever I will hold her close.

I will cherish those short moments that she laughs, I will hold the memories of those brief smiles dear to my heart, I will never let them go.

And I hope that one day, those clutches on my girl are loosened and she can wriggle out of them to me, becoming mine again to wonder absolutely free.

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