Reads: 320  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Review Chain
A thing i wrote while having an anxiety attack (well... just after)

Submitted: September 14, 2016

A A A | A A A

Submitted: September 14, 2016



"Just breathe..." I tell myself in hopes I can calm myself down not even fully sure what brought this on in the first place, I grab hold of my desk just to keep me balanced as I stare down at the floor boards.

"Breathe..." I repeat as I continue staring downward, but I can't get that right I keep taking quick and sharp breaths not being able to retain anything, an overwhelming feeling of nausea floods over me as I fall to the floor and continue to cradle myself.

I lay on the floor in a 'U' shape with my hands around my legs bringing my knees up to my face, with thoughts of how everything could have been different if I had just done one thing differently, and it isn't specific to any time period, memories flood my brain with how I was so wrong to say that thing that I had said when I was just a child, at this point I'm beyond rational I'm a giant mess of a person lying on the ground wallowing in self pity and resentment feeling nothing but regret for my whole life choices.

I take a sharp breath in but this time I hold it in, "Breathe..." I whisper into my knees as I start conflicting the thoughts in my head and expelling the wrong choices I have made and justify it with 'I am only human' even though that is a sentiment I don't believe in but it never felt so true to me in the heat of this moment.

I lay there for a long while just letting these thoughts swirl around in my head and let them pass through me and after the thoughts fade I continue lying there as if I were to move then they would return but also because somewhere along the line I found comfort in lying on the wooden tile floor, my breath comes back to me however shallow.

After what feels like hours I stand up feeling vacant and not sure how to continue but at least I can breathe and the voices have stopped.

© Copyright 2018 Rik Lowe. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:




More Non-Fiction Short Stories