A Panic Attack

The feeling rises in my chest, pricking my insides as it slides its spiked slimy surfaces all the way up to my throat. The feeling swells. It grows so big that my lungs can’t fit air in them and my eyes feel like they might burst from my skull. Then the tears. They fall and fall and keep falling like they are going to solve something by drowning me in them. The little noises around me become loud, like voices screaming in my ears and inside my head, it feels like they’re trying to tell me something, but I can’t understand what they have to say so I just feel worse. I can't hear what they are saying but they’re too loud to ignore. It’s as though they are muffled or bound, taunting me with their silent screams that make the walls of my mind vibrate as they echo. The tears again, I remember that they are still here. They never left; I was just too overwhelmed to realize they were still here. They become cold as they rest on my skin, the air cooling them down in comparison to the heat of my face. I wish that I could be a tear sometimes, to help someone with their sadness and then disappear forever like I never existed. Maybe I am a tear, maybe I’m a symbol of weakness that longs to fall and evaporate into the sun's sky. The feeling subsides, letting its grimy spiked surface turn soft and drip back down into my stomach where it lies dormant, until next time.

I never feel better after a panic attack, it just keeps getting worse.