Lips Are Moving
When you're talking to me, I'm not listening.
It all goes back to the day I thought I was dying at work, when I went to Urgent Care because I had stopped breathing normally, where they did an EKG because "it's routine for panic attacks." When they put the electrodes on my chest to read my heart rhythms, I saw how sterile and boring it is to have anxiety, when here I thought I was finally getting care for something other than a mental illness.
The room had narrowed to a pinpoint, the realization that it was once again "all in my head", the nurse sighing, thinking, this girl is just another troubled white girl with pretend problems, wasting everyone's time. The EKG machine trembled in agreement.
When you're talking to me, I'm blacking out. Sometimes it happens slowly. Often, I see the person's lips starting to move, and I go somewhere else. I go to the universe of self-consciousness, where I wonder if my shirt looks okay, if it has a stain on it or is unbuttoned. I am no longer a speaker of the English language, I am someone who can't understand a word you're saying.
Watching lips move is terrifying. It means I have to have some sort of response. It gets so bad that when they ask me where I live, what I do, I can't remember. I shake my head, apologize. I freeze, I suppose - and the more I try to think about their question, the further I get from being able to answer it.
My therapist gives me silly putty during our sessions, and I rope it between my fingers, like rosary beads. He says I can ground myself into the earth, push my heels into the floor, center myself before speaking. He suggested a stress ball for work. I told him I need a Xanax prescription. I'm tired of my blank stares, my stuttering, slurring my words, no one understanding what comes out of my mouth. I need what is the equivalent of a loaded gun, the pills there when I need them, a sure-fire way to protect myself in the face of, well, myself.
My hope for myself is that I can live a life where I am confident enough to ward off anxiety - it's most likely a crisis of confidence that gets me to the point of no return, socially.
My hope for myself is that when you're talking to me, I'm listening, fully and without inhibition.