Head Space

Heart pounding, I take a peek around the corner.
It is a blur of people hurrying by.
Bits of their conversations drift my way.
"Did you arrange for the babysitter to come by 7:00 tonight?"
"Sharon, I TOLD you I need new shirts for work! Now I have to go buy them myself when I don't have time!"
Frightened by the noise outside and the rush of people,
I retreat back into a dark room.
There's a small mattress on the floor,
An old lamp that flickers every few minutes,
With a worn Bible next to it.
The room is a tight fit, no space left,
Barely enough to breathe,
But I don't do much of that.
Between panic attacks and nightmares,
Breathing is a dream,
Like rainbows and sunsets.
I understand the mechanics of them,
But can never quite experience them for myself.
I wish now I had a clock,
Something on which to watch the passage of time,
Because time has clearly stopped
Here
In my head.
Feelings of not being enough,
Of being a failure,
Wash over and threaten to drown me.
There's no protection here,
Not even a door to keep bad things out.
Panic attacks... ? ✓
Nightmares... ? ✓
Locusts... ?
Maybe not yet, but the air crackles with electricity,
A sign of an incoming threat,
And I'm vulnerable, weak.
My head is cloudy, looks like storms,
As my dark thoughts come haphazardly
Spilling out into the world,
Where there are so many people rushing,
There might as well be none,
Because my words go unheard or ignored
By all.
Can I go outside anyway,
Find a quiet corner, sit, and read?
Maybe some sunlight will make me feel stronger.
I could drink it in like the sweet nectar from heaven it is.
Maybe I should try...
I walk haltingly towards the world,
And just as I start to turn the corner,
I stumble and fall down flat,
Half in the room,
Half in the world.
Concerned passersby rush over to check me for wounds.
Finding only cuts and scrapes,
They stand me up and support me,
As they walk me to a nearby park bench.
I sit there, trying to breathe,
While I look out at a beautiful sunset
Of reds, oranges, even pinks.
I feel myself relax, as tension starts to leave my body.
Tears spill unbidden as I sit quietly,
So thankful to everyone who helped me after my fall.
It's nice to be out of my head.


NOTE: I wrote this one day after talking to a good friend. I'd had a difficult day with panic attacks and dark thoughts, and she said she wished there was some way for me to get out of my head. The result of that comment was this poem -- my fantasy of how I could get out of my head if I allowed others to help me instead of always trying to do it on my own. Thanks, Kara, for the inspiration.