Anxiety


The warmth spreads, head to toe.
I can’t breathe. I’m dying. The warmth grows.
Tears well in my eyes, a lump grows in my throat.
I squeeze out a breath, “help,” I muster.
Stairs from my parents, unsure of what to do.
“Try to breath.” “I can’t,” I scream to myself.
Death is sure to come soon.
This thought. More tightness fills my chest.
A wash of ice fills my legs and arms.
I can’t feel my feet, voices sound miles away.
My own voice, foreign.
An elephant has moved in.
Another breath, one at a time,
Slowing working around the weight.
My parent’s, worried washed faces, watch.
Another breath. My toes and fingers tingle.
My head clears, leaving pain.
The elephant moves on.
Another breath. Easier this time.
My body feels like mine again.
The storm is clearing.
I’m going to live, but there remains,
Knowing. Waiting. Fear. I will be back.

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