I am in the midst of a panic attack and usually I would pace myself into oblivion and let these wild thoughts race through my mind and coarse into my veins and completely take over any logic or reason that would be clinging on…but today I am trying to write through it…it’s incredibly hard, it’s taken me almost 5 minutes to write these few sentences.
I feel utterly paralyzed with fear. I am fighting off Alice and the rabbit hole, I am trying to keep my head above water, I am battling every single negative whisper and it’s growing into a scream.
It is like trying to ignore a lion, mouth open, warm breath rushing onto the side of your face, teeth bare, roaring… because if you turn towards it, surely you’ll be swallowed up, so instead you turn away and close your eyes and hope that the mere suggestion of ignoring it will turn into a reality…that when you open your eyes, even though you can still feel the heat on your neck, it’ll somehow be gone.
I’m thinking about him. I’m thinking about how happy I was once. I’m thinking about how I am going to pay my bills, how I am going to eat today, how long my cable and internet connection will be on before I finally have to admit to myself that I am staring into the cold eyes of denial. I’m thinking about my children and their paths in life. I’m thinking of my father who I don’t speak to nearly enough. I’m thinking of all the things I am not doing by sitting here trying to get through this moment. I’m thinking that my tears are blurring my ability to see the screen to check for typos…I’m thinking who cares about typos during a meltdown? Oh that’s right, me.
I have that familiar knot in my throat, the one that holds all the emotions you never let bubble to the surface so it chokes you every time and yet I am still surprised when it appears because surely I have shed enough tears for a lifetime, often in one sitting.
I wonder who else cries in the shower, or fights so hard against their OCD compulsions that mind splitting headaches are their reward.
I wonder when I stopped caring about my surroundings and if the commune I googled last week will actually let me come stay there.
I want to run. I want to burst through my front door and run until I can no longer stand and then sadly I know that won’t be very far…and I’d have to come back to get my dog.
I want to be out in nature and reminded again of how small I am so my problems don’t feel so big and looming.
But then if I do that am I in more denial? Can you be in “more” denial? Am I avoiding the inevitable? What IS WRONG with me?
When was my brain last quiet? When did I shut out all this noise? Why can’t I remember or more importantly get back there? Yoga. Yoga did it for me once.
I’m collecting words in a bowl…to make what? Art? Is my life art? Am I art? it’s subjective anyway so what does it matter?
I feel like I did when I was 16, living with my boyfriend after being kicked out of my home. I am a nomad, I am anorexic by default again, because I can barely afford to feed myself so I sleep to ward off hunger. I am her again. A mess. I thought I had come so far, that I had made myself into something, but what? what did I make, except a bigger mess?
This is a mad mind. My tag line is perfection.
I just want to be a good person…
So I suppose I will make Alice and the White Rabbit some tea…
that lion is not going away, not today.