This Moment

By , lexington, MA
This moment my callous computer screen stares at me. Its coldness and blankness are comforting. It cannot tell me I will not feel better. I am almost grown now. My eyes stare back unprotected and bare: vulnerable. My throat is tight, but I hardly notice it. I have a mild headache, but who doesn’t? Pangs are always prevalent in my heavy chest.
Jab, jab, jab:
a knife punches it several times. A throbbing heart that beats uncontrollably, pounding, devouring my rationality. Wheezing: can’t breathe. I am like a fish without water, a bird without air. Panic. Panic. Pain shoots through my upper stomach. It is a faucet releasing stinging adrenaline that cannot be shut off. An internal tornado. I’ve learned to
suppress it,
bottle it up,
close the cap,
and no one can tell.
My friends say, how can you appear so calm? I say, practice. The
pain,
pain,
pain.
I am restless, yet tired, weary, fatigued. Muscles won’t relax- tense, edgy, drained. There is a pocket of nervousness that sits in my chest all day, every day. Aching. It never goes away. I don’t know what I want. I can’t tell why I feel like this. I am pressed with exhaustion and flooded with anxiety.
Every day,
every hour,
every minute,
every second.
My mind spins, scatterbrained and whirling with thoughts. I can’t function- paralyzed are my limbs. My body is a prison. I am trapped behind a barred door to which there is no key. Unable to do, unable to think. Things that used to be easy, simple, are now impossible. My brain grinds to a halt and completing my homework is out of the question.
Fogginess.
Feelings of unreality and disorientation. I am living a nightmare. Hell. Sleep does not bring me ease, for my dreams are filled with physical pain and mental grief. Life is seeping out of my limp body.
Five years of crushing confusion. Overwhelming. Devastating. Is there hope? Why can’t I think? Am I going insane? Am I mentally retarded? What is wrong with me? No one can understand this feeling. This is REAL to me. I can’t tell them- it makes them frustrated, angry. It scares them. But I am scared too. What should I do? They don’t know.
God, help me.
I want to be a child again.





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