Anxiety

The pit of my stomach has twisted into a soft pretzel flavored with the salt of my tears. Shaking, I know, it's "no biggy" right? Just a thing. Ain't nothing but a thing- but it's everything. This could change things. My breathing is irregular, my heartbeat following the wrong tempo, my mind whirling, my mind swirling, my mind twirling around a fence of gated feelings, I'm crying. Breathe. God, breathe. Okay. It's okay. It's not okay. I'm not okay.  I'm going to be sick; I grip my sides with unheeded force. Someone hold me, someone do something, give me a pill, something. Please. Please. Please.