Panic Attack

My stomach feels queasy,

My life seems uneasy,

But only for a moment.

Only for a moment before my breath gets shorter, that is.

My teeth feel numb,

And so do my thumbs.

I know exactly what this is

And I know it will pass but it does not make me feel much better.

My vision gets blurry,

I feel like I'm running—in a hurry,

But I'm simply sitting on the ground,

Next to a toilet, just in case I throw up this time.

My skin feels cold,

My joints, stiff and old.

But I strip myself of my clothes

And jump into a bath of cold water to help calm my nerves.

My breaths start to recover,

And my stomach too,

Along with my clearer vision.

It will happen again, I know, but likely not for some time.

My teeth and head,

My fingers and thumbs,

They all still feel tingly and numb,

As they do for some time after—but they, too, will recover.

Nothing's a pattern,

Nothing's always going to be alright,

But I do my best to keep that from getting

Into my head, my heart, and my body, causing me a panic attack.