Panic Disorder

May 13, 2012
By Anonymous

Here it is
The prickle beneath
My skin
When my chest contracts
Gasping for air
And I sink deeper
Here it is, when my breath comes too fast
And my tears run hot
Burning trails
When others’ hands are gentle
And their comforting words are mouthed
On the other side of a glass wall
Here it is, when my ears shut off
And my brain is cotton-tongued
Here it is, when I become alone
When the other bodies in the room are nothing but
A shadow of my fear
Here it is in my panic
That shines through swimming eyes
When my body becomes not my own
And I am forcibly detached
Here it is, my panic
That no words can yet restrain
Here are the ones I cannot fight
Inside my broken brain

The author's comments:
This piece was written during my worst struggles with panic disorder.

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