Writing during panic attacks
I write when I feel desperate, it helps me escape all kinds of weird creepy eerie thoughts that seem to be crouching so tight and low that I cannot see them on time, in the jungle route by the pool under moonless cloudy skies…..I have been the one to stay up all night just so I could catch the bird waking up at three in the morning and sleeping just before sunrise watching the world waking up….
Writing feels like a cozy warm blanket wrapped around while you’re all alone in your little corner, overdosing on caffeine..maybe wine, some cigarettes and some poetry…holding a yellow paper book with its frailing pages and oil stains, not bothering with the ashtray..
The rain drizzling outside, the steady pitter-patter your lullaby, you fall asleep, forever…wrapped in a cozy warm blanket, with an old record player that will go on and on and on playing the same melody until its batteries die….the wine which might get consumed by tiny red ants, the cigarette ash killing them the very next minute..such was life, beautiful and scary, alive and dead in the same moment..your book won’t die, it will just stay until time goes by and some young passerby pries open your cold fingers, taking that book with themselves, your soul would get free, you would want to hug the child but you won’t be able to and craving physical touch you might hug yourself only to find that your own hands went through, not staying not holding….
A sudden realization of having become just a passerby in this ever-changing world will dawn upon and the carefree spirit will return in a couple days, by when little algae and moss would have started to grow around you….which would be when you finally learn to rejoice life..
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