A poem I wrote about abuse/panic attacks/divorce
34th street will have to do.
5am Saturday nightthree cabstabs, and a whole lot of atmwithdrawlsgirls in their 20s going to plenty of places,some shiny and some dull.Brick walls and glances and laughs and lines and cheese fries and the freezing cold of winterbouncers who like to make you wait.And then 5:30am, no cabs to be found.Subway entrance, hold on.Stop.The feeling of a front line battle, the feeling of not wanting to jump off of a mile high diving board,walking down those stairs. Soon to become a panic attack, like all the times before. trying to take the trainI always feel trappedanother bar, talking about him, hoping he signs the papers,wondering why he's making me wait,six months and counting,do I pin him to the wall, and beathim to a bloody pulp? psychologically?By serving him the papers?do I unleash my lawyer like a vicious muscular dog, chasing after him? Or do I let him wait?Do I let flowers bloom in my gardenas I contemplate peaceful things?because, as my friend at the barsaid last night, I think you still love him. I probably do. Tonight the girls said it's because I haven'tmet someone else,and that's probably true.Or maybe it was just his energy.Something I've never found before or since.
And as much as he let it fall away, Like dropping your new babydown a well, he took the air of what we were,and he used it to light a match, that burned ourhouse to the ground completely, every objectgone. and look, a beautiful glass vase and he threw it against the wall just to watch itbreak into piecesBecause he liked to watch the rainbow reflections on those shards of glass. and as much as I've glued myself backtogetherpart of me will never understand.
Like a child asking where someonewent, when they died.
So I shudder whenever I feel trapped.And I can't stand the sensation of the subwaydoors closing.Black walls. Time stopping as we wait ina tunnel, for an uncertain amount of time. It feels like death to me. And a life forcerises up in me, a surge of adrenalin,with no where to escape to.If I was alone I would scream at the top of my lungs, like an animal thrown into a cagescurries and rallies and claws and rips to fight for its life,I would climb the walls, I would bash in the windows to let some sweet oxygen escape fromthat long, dark, windowless tunnel,like a snake surrounding me, with its sad lack of movement. I would scream.But I'm surrounded by normal people readingthe wall street journal,Talking to a quite normal person in fact, wearing a normalblack wool coat and scarf. and I plead with her that she please continue talking. I order her to. Please keep talking. What did your date look like? How tall are you? How tall was he? Please tell me.The black windows behind her face keep stealing my attention.like trying to hold a conversation when an ax murderer is inches from your face. Trying to not notice, and not see the death, so close by.I keep the scream within, and I breath hard,loosen my jacket and scarf as the feelingof needing to fight or kill to save my own life risesand I try to breath, and to remember the fivetips to use, to deal with panic attacks on trains.Breathe deeply. Remember you're not really dying,it only feels that way. Try to think straight, as all the blood is pounding in your heart, faster that you've felt. What werethe other tips? What were the other tips? What were the other tips?Heart beating..fasterfasterfasterfasterfasterfaster fasterfasterIt doesn't stop. It won't stop. And then I get off at the next stop. When I neededto go three. 34th street will have to do. I catch a cab, as tears well up in my eyes.Can I afford this? And not just the cab. The tears of almost dying, because my bodydoesn't know the difference.And I hope that someday, I can be in peace.I want to just sit in a seat, and have that be okay.I want to wake up, and not think about how empty my heart is without him.I want to chase a dream, and have it feel goodand not like I'm wading through wax and mudwhile I'm trying so hard to run.To run free of everything,like escaping from a jail, or taking a sail boat into the sea and letting the wind catch that white curtain and propel you to see a whole new view. . Or running faster than you knew until you lift off from the dirt and you feel yourselfjust rise above. I will.I will run. But not today. $14.75, plus tip, and thanks to the driver.
5am Saturday nightthree cabstabs, and a whole lot of atmwithdrawlsgirls in their 20s going to plenty of places,some shiny and some dull.Brick walls and glances and laughs and lines and cheese fries and the freezing cold of winterbouncers who like to make you wait.And then 5:30am, no cabs to be found.Subway entrance, hold on.Stop.The feeling of a front line battle, the feeling of not wanting to jump off of a mile high diving board,walking down those stairs. Soon to become a panic attack, like all the times before. trying to take the trainI always feel trappedanother bar, talking about him, hoping he signs the papers,wondering why he's making me wait,six months and counting,do I pin him to the wall, and beathim to a bloody pulp? psychologically?By serving him the papers?do I unleash my lawyer like a vicious muscular dog, chasing after him? Or do I let him wait?Do I let flowers bloom in my gardenas I contemplate peaceful things?because, as my friend at the barsaid last night, I think you still love him. I probably do. Tonight the girls said it's because I haven'tmet someone else,and that's probably true.Or maybe it was just his energy.Something I've never found before or since.
And as much as he let it fall away, Like dropping your new babydown a well, he took the air of what we were,and he used it to light a match, that burned ourhouse to the ground completely, every objectgone. and look, a beautiful glass vase and he threw it against the wall just to watch itbreak into piecesBecause he liked to watch the rainbow reflections on those shards of glass. and as much as I've glued myself backtogetherpart of me will never understand.
Like a child asking where someonewent, when they died.
So I shudder whenever I feel trapped.And I can't stand the sensation of the subwaydoors closing.Black walls. Time stopping as we wait ina tunnel, for an uncertain amount of time. It feels like death to me. And a life forcerises up in me, a surge of adrenalin,with no where to escape to.If I was alone I would scream at the top of my lungs, like an animal thrown into a cagescurries and rallies and claws and rips to fight for its life,I would climb the walls, I would bash in the windows to let some sweet oxygen escape fromthat long, dark, windowless tunnel,like a snake surrounding me, with its sad lack of movement. I would scream.But I'm surrounded by normal people readingthe wall street journal,Talking to a quite normal person in fact, wearing a normalblack wool coat and scarf. and I plead with her that she please continue talking. I order her to. Please keep talking. What did your date look like? How tall are you? How tall was he? Please tell me.The black windows behind her face keep stealing my attention.like trying to hold a conversation when an ax murderer is inches from your face. Trying to not notice, and not see the death, so close by.I keep the scream within, and I breath hard,loosen my jacket and scarf as the feelingof needing to fight or kill to save my own life risesand I try to breath, and to remember the fivetips to use, to deal with panic attacks on trains.Breathe deeply. Remember you're not really dying,it only feels that way. Try to think straight, as all the blood is pounding in your heart, faster that you've felt. What werethe other tips? What were the other tips? What were the other tips?Heart beating..fasterfasterfasterfasterfasterfaster fasterfasterIt doesn't stop. It won't stop. And then I get off at the next stop. When I neededto go three. 34th street will have to do. I catch a cab, as tears well up in my eyes.Can I afford this? And not just the cab. The tears of almost dying, because my bodydoesn't know the difference.And I hope that someday, I can be in peace.I want to just sit in a seat, and have that be okay.I want to wake up, and not think about how empty my heart is without him.I want to chase a dream, and have it feel goodand not like I'm wading through wax and mudwhile I'm trying so hard to run.To run free of everything,like escaping from a jail, or taking a sail boat into the sea and letting the wind catch that white curtain and propel you to see a whole new view. . Or running faster than you knew until you lift off from the dirt and you feel yourselfjust rise above. I will.I will run. But not today. $14.75, plus tip, and thanks to the driver.
Replies
I could feel it....Intense.
thanks for sharing.