The Only Way Out Is Through

It opens like a sinkhole inside of me

draining control from my entire body

till I am still and silent externally;

this inner demon we call anxiety.

I was having a conversation

with my mom and twin,

when I went out of operation

and withdrew deep within;

it wasn't triggered by word

nor by tone or topic,

but the way reality blurred

and I couldn't stop it.

Tears streamed in rivers

down my cheeks to hit my sheets

as I tried to find comfort in bed.

My throat was invaded by a fist,

the pressure of being different,

as tangibly intangible as mist,

unable to self-explain to kin.

Motor functions shut down.

Logical thought shut down.

A cocoon of emotions all around,

with a butterfly that can't climb out.

So, I tried to remember something I read,

about helping someone out of an attack,

to focus on the senses to make sense of the rest,

but I couldn't remember the facts.

black, yellow, brown, orange, white, red, blue-

I mentally listed colors to help me through;

wood grain, sand paper, speaker mesh, glass-

I mentally listed textures to save my own ass;

square, circle, bottle, coffin, mug, triangle, oval-

I mentally listed shapes to help me get it over;

but there was an impassable mountain in my chest,

that distracted thoughts couldn't seem to best.

Thirty full minutes of silent tears of inner pain,

gear-grid-lock inside my nervous system and brain,

fully aware, yet unresponsive just the same,

claimed by the panic attack of anxiety's reign.

The only way out is through,

crude map drawn by time,

refined by my inner coup,

to take back whats mine.

Life.

You see, a panic attack of anxiety

is like being alive but ceasing living,

everything is sensed hyper-vividly,

and somehow too, also blindingly

to the mind that binds absolutely.

So please, be patient with me.

-M.E.

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