Fighting the Panic

Maybe it’s because it’s Monday. Maybe it’s because work is slow. Maybe it’s the events of last week finally catching up with me. Maybe it’s paranoia that I drank too much on Friday night and made an ass of myself and everyone is so polite and wouldn’t tell me if I did. Maybe it’s guilt from binge watching two whole series of television shows over the weekend. Maybe it’s the anticipation of plans and the infinite possibilities that might happen. Maybe it’s the feeling that people are lying to me and since my intuition has been so off for the last few months, I’m worried I’m being paranoid.

Maybe I should have taken the whole pill instead of just a half.

But then I’m worried I would be fighting drowsiness. I don’t know which is worse, trying to ride the wave of anxiety that feels like it’s about to white cap into a full blown panic attack, or worrying that I might feel a little drowsy for an hour or two.

Maybe I just want to see if I can write this out as it happens.

Fighting the expanding pressure in my chest that rolls down through my arms scattering into rain droplets of needles on my skin, falling slowly at first and faster as the storm rolls closer to my fingertips.

My stomach is floating. I’m certain it’s trying to float to the top of my throat. I can feel the pressure on my vocal chords, like someone is holding my throat just enough to keep me from speaking, but still able to breathe.

The pins and needles are on the roof of my mouth.

I want comfort and consolation, but my brain reminds me that the pins and needles will swarm to any part of my skin touched by other skin.

The air I can breathe in feels like freezing oxygen, forming ice crystals in my lungs that are instantly melted by my body heat. It feels like drowning in the desert.

Swallowing reminds me of the pressure around my neck. My mouth is dry and I can’t seem to drink enough water. I yawn trying to fill my lungs with enough air to catch my breath. My stomach grumbles, I can’t tell if it’s hunger or too much water or it’s just grumbling because it can’t float away.

The words come because I can focus on simple feelings and they keep me in front of the curtain of full blown panic. I know that if I peek behind me, if I take a moment to think about what could be causing this, I will be faced with a tidal wave of possibilities that any attempt to sort through will exponentially increase the madness.

I have to take the medicine, otherwise the tidal wave will blow through the curtain and I’ll feel mostly catatonic and unable to put my brain back in my body.

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