Battle of the Mind

There’s a lump in my throat that feels like a 30-pound dumbbell, 

Dragging my body down slowly with every gulp.

This weight is accompanied by aches that surge through my body leaving me paralyzed with worry. 

My arms are glued to my sides as if they’re made of duct tape.

Why can’t I move?

Next starts the pounding in my chest that’s beating to the rhythm of a race car cruising 90 miles per hour around the track.

No, scratch that,

The pounding has moved to my head.

It seems an elephant has taken its place on my chest.

His body is stuck to my sternum like the arms that still refuse to leave my side.

Why can’t I breathe?

I want to scream.

I want to say something,

Anything. 

But no one can hear me.

Sound refuses to fight its way through my throat and out of my mouth.

If I try to speak it’ll only lead to an eruption of tears that sit pooled under my eyelids,

But if I say nothing at all won’t that only hurt worse?

I feel like I should go to the hospital.

Should I?

No, idiot.

Just breathe. 

How long has it been?

My eyes scan the room as if a timer will plaster my walls saying, “Only 5 minutes left!”

My subconscious is laughing simultaneously,

She knows there’s no telling when this will stop. 

Okay, breathe. 

Deep and slow.

How am I supposed to breathe when there’s a vicious battle going on inside my brain? 

One side screaming at me to panic,

To worry.

That side is a devilish bitch.

She wants me to collapse right here in this room.  

The other is pleading for me to stay calm.

To inhale slowly.

To remind myself I’ll be okay. 

She seems nice, but her voice isn’t strong.

Who am I supposed to listen to when both of their home turfs inhabit the depths of my brain? 

It’s been 20 minutes.

It sure as hell feels like it’s been 24 hours. 

Suddenly, my eyes start to focus,

And the racecar that is my beating heart stops its engine.

The elephant takes one foot off my chest.

I can breathe again.

Did I survive?

I can move my body.

I can speak.

Whew. 

Twenty minutes and thirty-five seconds.

Not too bad. 

This war didn’t last as long as the one after dinner last week.

I wonder when the next attack will occur.

Where will I be when guns start blazing and the voices in my head start screaming?

Will it be as bad? Do you think it could be better? 

Will this vicious cycle ever end?

My head starts spinning at the paranoia of future battles.

Oh boy,

Here we go again.

Breathe. 

• HC MSU
• mental health
• original poem
• poetry