Sunday, October 16, 2016

Dear Anxiety Attack

Dear anxiety attack,
in thirty minutes you will be over, but for right now you are the eye of my own storm; raging winds, hailstones the size of my self-confidence, these tiny things.  You are the deadly change in my climate.   You are a nuclear warhead in my chest and I am growing so tired of having to tear the mass casualties from my rib cage every day.
You are the constant shake of my hands.
You are a machine that no one ever has the skill to fix when you fall to pieces inside me.  A constant groaning and grinding of gears in my brain that can never seem to be adjusted.
You are worry lines in the smiles people you exhaust besides only me.  I am tired of going to bed wondering if I've lost another part of myself today.  Wondering if I lost another person you affected.  You moved into my body, not theirs.  You could at least only burn down my forest.
You are sinking into a bathtub filled with ice water.  I grow accustomed to numbness and the wonder if I will be able to keep my head above the surface.
Dear anxiety attack,
in twenty minutes you will be over, but for right now you are a cave.  No sunlight and no life thrive here, only the decay of things that actually make me feel okay.  You say I am not allowed to have freedom.
You are restrictions I put upon myself.  When you whisper that my heart is already so full of you there is no room for anything else inside my weary bones.
You are bumping into someone and wondering for the rest of the evening if I left a bruise.
You are being forced to fight a vicious war scene.  A war scene where you are usually finished with me in thirty minutes; twenty of actual panic, and ten of bonus panic for knowing I let this happen again.
Dear anxiety attack,
in ten minutes you will be over.  You are the violating feeling that I have been assaulted and harassed and beaten without the marks on my body.
You are not sorry for this.
You will never be sorry for this.
I don't think you ever knew how to be sorry.
It's been thirty minutes.  I'm fine.
Just burn this letter after you read it.
I'll write you a new one next time.

1 comment:

Rebecca said...

You put into words what we cannot speak. Panic attacks are/can be terrifying and part of that is having to explain to those around you what is going on and what you are feeling. Thank you for this!

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