Panic Attack

The day is like any other day

At least it starts like that

But then the weight in my stomach drops like a dead weight

And I know that this day will be anything but OK.

 

After the ball drops, the bird in my chest starts to flutter

Like a magnet it is pulling me away from where I am

Tugging me

Like an impatient toddler

 

As the toddler tugs

My chest becomes tighter

Trying to contain the toddler

But that only pulls me more

 

My brain tries to calm the bird

But it too is stuck in its own cage

My brain rattling around like a mint in a tin

Ricocheting around in my head

It is only telling me one thing,

Run.

 

But we’re just sitting in class, I say, Why does this have to happen?

Because! My brain proclaims.

Why? I whine.

Because something very bad is trying to kill you.

I look around.

No…

Just get out of here.

Shut up.

Leave.

SHUT. UP.

GO NOW.

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.

NO YOU HAVE TO LEAVE.

NO I DON’T.

THEN PROTECT YOURSELF.

HOW? AND AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE?

I AM DOING THIS TO SAVE YOU.

...What is going to happen to me?

Terrible things.

No… that can’t--

Oh but it will.

 

The battle between me and myself

Rages on,

I am the co-pilot of my own body.

I try breathing,

Breathing slowly only makes the magnet pull more.

I try to stop frantically shaking my leg,

Stopping only makes my heart hammer more.

There is no escape.

 

The eyes feel as if they are being shot through me like a harpoon,

They are whispering about you.

No… that’s stupid.

Okay, don’t tell me I didn’t tell you so.

 

When people talk,

I nod and laugh,

Not entirely listening to what is being said,

But just enough so I won’t be caught.

“Julia, are you okay?”

Crap, they know.

“Yeah… yeah I’m all good. Just excited to leave.”

“Me too, school sucks.”

“Heh, yeah.”

They know you are crazy, you are like a witch in the 1700’s. Brain says.

That’s very dramatic.

But it’s true.

 

I wish there was a way to escape this.

A big glowing neon sign:

COME OVER HERE IF YOU WANT TO FEEL LIKE YOU AREN’T GOING INSANE!!

I would take that exit right away.

If it meant running 20 miles I would sprint the whole way.

I would do anything to not feel like this,

To finally have control over myself.

To feel as though people were not constantly talking about me,

To be able to ignore the sense of sinking dread,

Sliding down my chest like tar.

 

If I could get a quick fix I would.

Maybe someday an angel will come down

And remove me from this sense of zero control.

 

But until then,

I will try.

I will try to get better.

Because I know the difference between being psychotic

And being fine

Is trying.

And I won’t let myself stop trying.

I will not allow it.

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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