Lures and Whispers

What is it?

What do I have?

Oh God, it’s a tumor. Its something.

I’m getting dizzy. I’m weak.

Its diabetes. Grandma has diabetes. Nobody in my immediate family has it.

I must have it.

Oh God. I’m sick.

No, I’m not. I’m ok. It’s the anxiety.

No, you’re not.

This isn’t normal.

What the fuck, man? Don’t you care about yourself?

Slow down. You’re dying.

No, I’m not. I’m ok. It’s the anxiety.

Feel that? You’re going to need a doctor.

Go see a doctor.

Take off work.

You’re dying.

No, I’m not. I’m ok. It’s the anxiety.

You’re not strong enough.

Take the pills again.

You’re weak…

I could feel the welling of tears that comes with this horrid glitch in my brain. The flight is coming. The terror. I know its not real, but my brain doesn’t. Its firing off all it can to get me to run from some imaginary threat. I’m sitting in my tractor, waiting to be unloaded, and I’m being told to scatter like a mouse.

You are weak!

It had been over two months since I quit taking the medication I was given in 2011. 5 years of drug-induced balance. 5 years of the legacy of a strong heart, but a weak will. 5 years of her legacy still in my head.


As soon as I was able to pull away, I threw my tractor to its highest RPM and drove as slow as I could out of the shipping building. I looked around and saw no one. No one to see my only choice. The engine’s roar drowning out my next course.

I screamed. I screamed as loud as I could. I growled. I barked. I let the animal out.The same animal that fuels my spirit needed release. It was scared. It was angry. It was frustrated. It hated the cage. For a week, it was telling me, but I didn’t listen. Now, it had its freedom.

By the time I circled to pick up more pallets, to continue my job as I had been doing, I was hoarse, but the panic had fled. The fear of everything gone. All the signs of sickness my mind saw dissipated. There was nothing left of the monster. Only I remained.

This was the first attack I had fought off entirely on my own; without calling my parents or friends or anyone. It was also the first attack off my medications. The fear of it being worse off the meds was false.

I had willed myself through it. I had beaten it by myself.

I am not beholden to fear. Not anymore.

This is how I dealt with an anxiety attack. Not everyone who suffers from anxiety can deal with it like I have. If you feel you have anxiety, or any other mental illness, please see a doctor. Some people require medication. Some don’t. Do not let ideology or passionate opinion make choices for you. Do what is best FOR YOU!

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