Panic’s Cruel Grip

Girl-Rescued1

I try to stop the rising panic

But my mind has its own will

Hijacking my body into its cruel service

I attempt to force oxygen into warring lungs

And relax the ever-tightening knot in my belly

To no avail

My heart is racing, drilling its

Intense rhythm into my head

The only real proof that I am still living

Though I feel like I’m dying and death?

Death would seem a mercy

From this torture

But no such relief comes. Not yet.

I lay curled in a ball feeling cold and

Hot at the same time, sweat droplets

Winding a path down my face

I feel utterly alone even as my husband

Lays beside me sleeping blissfully unaware

I fight the urge to bury my head into his body

Even in torture, I put my own needs last

Martyrdom always comes at a steep price

Especially when you’ve lived it for 40 years

Tears mixed with sweat are dampening my pillowcase

“You’re okay, You’re okay, just breathe” I tell myself

I try to picture beautiful things instead of the darkness

That works to take over

It feels like days, weeks even, not an hour or two

It is gone almost as quickly as it started

Not gone, gone. Not disappeared

I still feel the remnant of its hold on me

A small dread that something bad

Is just over the horizon

That the boogeyman really is right

Under my bed, ready to grab me any moment

But I can breathe again, for now.

 

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