White Storm
Anxiety, Panic Attacks and the Comfort of Nighttime
With each tick of the clock,
My throat tightens a little bit more,
Slowly strangling me from within.
The walls creep slowly inward,
Threatening, menacing,
Almost taunting me.
The cool black of night,
Has given way to orange and white heat,
My heart races,
My thoughts swirl,
As breath begins to elude me.
I lay silently still, but want desperately to run
Somewhere, anywhere but here, I think.
Yet, I’m frozen
Paralyzed, both by the fear,
And the realization there’s nowhere left to run.
So, here I stay,
Trembling,
Waiting,
Eyes clamped shut,
Inviting back the velvety calm of darkness,
Until the storm has passed.
About the Creator
Misty Rae
Retired legal eagle, nature love, wife, mother of boys and cats, chef, and trying to learn to play the guitar. I play with paint and words. Living my "middle years" like a teenager and loving every second of it!
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.