Standing in the center of my shower shaking,
unable to stand up straight any longer.
Trying to grip a slippery bathroom wall
I forced myself to turn off the water.
Forced myself to get out.
I felt like every fiber in me was going to fall to the ground.
Soaking wet I stumbled to my bed,
sitting on the edge of it while my legs convulsively shake.
This was it.
This was me realizing that you were not going to be there to help me.
This was me realizing I’m on my own.
This was a moment of my wounds opening after I swore,
I healed them.
I had to let go and I had to move on.
Violently shaking I’m going to faint.
My hands are shaking, knee caps buckling. My gut is killing – it’s hurting.
I’m uncontrollably crying,
I’m going to move on.
This is a panic attack.
This is going to pass and I am no longer going to feel this
way towards you, nor self-conflict this against myself.
Maybe not today or tomorrow, but eventually,
I am no longer going to feel the sense of urge for you.
I will no longer want to revisit my places of pain,
I will move on from this moment. This is a panic attack.
It came out of nowhere and I am unable to stop it.
I was just taking a shower…
but it will be okay,
I will be okay.
Second Chances, Page 295