It begins with a cloud of anxiety,
a sprinkle of self-doubt,
leading to the panic attack
where my demons and I hash it out.
Chest burns, I'm suffocating.
Sweat coating me, my heart races.
Weak. I fear I will faint.
A crowded street of all places.
My fingertips go numb.
I know they're talking, trying to reassure me
but I'm too far gone for words.
Feeling like I'm going to end up on a gurney.
Tears running down my cheeks.
It feels like centuries have passed.
Six words triggered my torture.
Six words, a hurricane for me but to you overcast.
I cannot stop every oncoming storm.
I can only promise that I will try.
Maybe someday I will conquer this.
Have coping skills ever made pigs fly?