Breathe… Please?

Anxiety…it’s just a pain in the butt. You can’t breathe properly. You can’t walk properly. You can’t sit properly. You can’t eat, at all, for fear of it coming back up. You can’t think properly. Your heart is beating faster than it should. You’re sitting down but it’s going like a freight train on crack. You’re breaking out in cold sweat. You just want it to be over. Everything is magnified. Everything is overwhelming. Everything is out of your control.

You can’t do anything. Nothing but sit there and let the fear engulf you. That irrational, illogical fear. In the back of your mind you know that whatever thoughts are eating away at you aren’t sound. You’re scared of something that can never happen. Still it continues. Your heart goes so fast you’re sure you’re on the verge of a heart attack. All the colour drains from your face. Something else to add to the list – you’re scared someone will notice and ask you to explain what’s going on. Scared because you know you can’t. Not in a way that they’ll understand. 

You can’t feel anything except fear. It’s gripping every inch of your being and it’s relentless. It just won’t let up. After a while, you don’t even know what you’re so afraid of anymore. You’re not thinking anything, but you’re thinking of everything. It’s going so fast your brain doesn’t even have time to process what’s going on. 

And then it stops. Just like that. Because panic attacks, for some reason, only last 25 minutes. 25 minutes? Really? It didn’t feel like 25 minutes. It felt like an eternity. 25 minutes or an eternity, it doesn’t matter, it was too long. Too long to feel that way. 

Oh well, thank God that’s over. 

Oh wait. 

No.

No…nononono. 

It happens all over again. For another 25 minutes. 

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