For the record: panic attack in a practice room

For a while, I would have strong memories about each panic attack I had at college. Here’s a poem? Or piece of my brain, honouring those dark memories of isolation and panic. You are not alone. Hattie.

It felt like everything was over.

Like I was playing, forcing my way through the thoughts thrusting themself at me. Trying to ignore, trying to focus on the vibration of my cello but with each vibration and stroke of the bow my tears started falling.

Does this mean I’m dying? My breathing felt unnatural - almost as unnatural as the strangeness of my unending cascade of thoughts. Like a shower, coming from all angles and leaving me breathless.

My cello in one hand I walk over to the door to see if anyone can see me. I turn to face the other way with one had on the wall breathing deeper and wondering if I’ll survive this destructive attack of my brain.

I have a lesson in half an hour. I can’t look back and understand why I felt I had to go. I think my teacher might have come in just for me. My mental health is a nuisance to them and nothing less. I haven’t told them about it, but this is the only reality in my mind. I’m mute to most people about the extent of how dark it feels.

Maybe having the lesson will distract me? It could be the only time today that I’m not completely alone and so I can’t jepordise that.