My friend Forrest recently called me the world’s premiere gift horse mouth looker. Whenever I’m paid a compliment, I feel the need to explain myself. My debilitating anxiety prevents me from doing normal things, like choosing an ice cream flavor, folding my laundry, or falling in love. All I can do is whine, whimper, wail, mewl, moan, make a fuss. One way I shut myself up is through somatic vocal toning exercises. I close my eyes, fill my lungs with air, and slowly say “Vvvvvvvvoooooooooooommmmmmmooooooooooo.” The vibrations make me dizzy, dislodging me from consciousness as my heartbeat becomes a kick drum under my verbal drone, and for a moment, I feel blissfully stupid, detached from my self, fully present in my body. No thoughts. Head empty.
