My version of a panic attack

My heart beats faster and the pain comes pouring out. The desire to end and the frantic need to be held and loved and told it will be all right. It’s my version of the more traditional panic attack. This shift to sudden sadness. And I need to isolate myself because I can feel the tears, the sobs coming and I can’t explain it without explaining everything I shouldn’t. All the secrets, all the truths that wait in the darkness, waiting to grab hold and twist their way out of me. That’s what it feels like. And I know that voice lies but it feels like truth. I feel so alone as my heart slams and the blood pulses. Just a touch from my love and it’ll quiet, but there’s been no one to do that in years. I’m just a broken doll. Discarded, discovered, then cast aside again for something better. There’s just this stretching of days and this nothing, this nothing, this nothing. Not enough to be loved, not enough for anyone. All chances fled. All hope denied. Not even sleep is a refuge when you remember your dreams.

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