trigger me softly

it’s not normal

it’s not normal

for my chest to constrict like this

for my breathing to become so fast

so shallow

I’m not getting enough air

I’m scrubbing

harder and harder

a slimy rag threatening to rip apart

its bleach scent inescapable

.

black spots creep into

scrub harder

use less soap

because he’ll be angry

if the dish soap runs out too fast

.

it’s not normal,

it’s not normal

to panic like this

but it’s dusk

.

she died in the morning————

.

but we are fucking terrified

we cannot breathe

she couldn’t breathe————

now I can’t breathe

black spots encroach on my vision

was it like this for her too

as her precious little pink tongue

turned gray

because she couldn't get enough air——

.

it’s not normal, it’s not normal

but the colors of dusk are close enough

to the colors of dawn

and I’m too young to know

the body keeps the score

and my body has decided

to never ever ever forget

how she died in his arms

my useless hands stroking her

but unable to help her

calm her down, maybe she’ll

make it through this spell

like she made it through the others

.

but now I’m under a spell

of memory taking over

of memory becoming reality

I don’t see soapsuds

I see the one light on

as she struggles and struggles to breathe

it is not dusk

it is night

and I will not sleep

because I need to keep her alive

.

it is not dusk

it is the darkest dawn

I’ve ever known

a light that brought

no salvation

.

it is not dusk

this is not normal

we are in the exam room

waiting for the doctor

where the fuck is he——

.

.

oh.

she’s not.

breathing.

anymore.

.

.

.

.

I take a gasping, shaking, grating breath

my hands are still in the soapy water

I wheeze

then control it

he mustn’t hear

he musn’t see

.

my heart is still beating

in a chest that aches

like I might be dying

but no, no

I am not dying

I cannot even think the word

without bursting into tears

.

and we are supposed to be okay now.

this is not normal.

it has been enough days

WE ARE SUPPOSED TO BE OKAY.

.

let’s wash away the sweat

keep my arms down

hide my shameful armpit stains

we will not vomit up

the dinner we just ate

.

we are not having a panic attack.

we do not have panic attacks.

I am his daughter

and I will not disappoint him

or hurt him

with my weakness.

.

this is perfectly normal.

I am okay.

.

grab the rag

and finish the dishes

before anyone notices

I’m taking too long.

~

"Is it love or a panic attack?"

— Halsey, Panic Attack

~

"Long after a traumatic experience is over, it may be reactivated at the slightest hint of danger

and mobilize disturbed brain circuits and secrete massive amounts of stress hormones. This precipitates unpleasant emotions,

intense physical sensations,

and impulsive and aggressive actions. These posttraumatic reactions feel incomprehensible and overwhelming.

Feeling out of control,

survivors of trauma often begin

to fear that they are damaged to the core and beyond redemption."

— Dr. Bessel A. van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma