First of Sorts: Breakdown

Last night in the course of the two mile drive to dinner I got sick. All of a sudden my body ached, my head throbbed and my voice began its departure. Afterwards, arriving home to rest, the sweltering heat held me in a vice grip. It was the last thing I needed. I hadn’t slept the night before because of heats hold on me and I wasn’t willing to surrender another night. I left. 

Escaped my suffocating conversation and my roommate who wanted to talk to me, about what I had no idea or interest. My temper was low. I knew it was the elements and not anything in particular and yet somehow I still felt I’d done something wrong. I quietly wished I lived alone because I get exhausted having to explain my moods. They swing far and wide along the pendulum. And when I’m at the extremes I keep to myself. It always causes a problem. 

Leaving knowing I was abandoning a bid for connection I just wanted to sleep. Off to a friends house I retreated to her cool air and soft couch. I woke up every two hours. Still, it was the best sleep I’d had in two weeks. This isn’t good. 

  It had been over a month since I quit my medicine and simultaneously stopped having anxiety attacks. Until today. Just now actually. Crawling up the stairs barely making it to my bed before my body stopped entirely. Crumpled up and catatonic I had to lay there sobbing until it passed. It feels like hours have gone by in only the seven minutes. Can I go to work? The thought of trying to get myself together made my stomach turn. How many times today would I feel close to death? Even though I know you can’t die from a panic attack, the sensation has no such intelligence. My chest is heavy with the weight of every unsolved riddle in my life. How will I pay rent? How will I settle debts? Where will I go post grad? You need to get your website up. You need to make your video.  Will I make it to grad? Will anyone care if I do? Will anyone care if I don’t? Should I take a break? You can’t afford to take a break. Maybe you’re all hype and fanfare. Will any of this matter in the long run? On and on at five pounds each they stack themselves on my sternum.  So I sit here waiting. Crying. Writing. Praying. How can I go anywhere but here? 

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