Poem On My Panic

As I wiped off my makeup, red skin flaring underneath, I began to cry. Tears swelled in my eyes, smearing mascara down my cheeks. My mouth fell open, a silent sob begging to break free. I wiped. And wiped. And wiped.
I felt like a lie.

My clothes pooled at my feet. I glanced down, staring at the leftover red nail polish on my toes. I touched my stomach. No. I pushed on it. I clawed at the fat, the skin.
When I looked up, my eyes seemed hollow.

I let the water soak my skin, my hair. It was scalding hot.
Good.
I went through the motions of washing my hair. Rubbing my arms and legs clean.
All the while I cried.

I lifted my face into the stream of water, gasping as some entered my lungs. My mouth seemed to rip open. I was screaming. Screaming with no sound.
Pressure built behind my eyes. My eardrums felt like they were going to burst.
Fingers dug into my skull, begging to make it stop.

I crumpled into the tub. I curled in a ball, my face mere centimeters from smashing into the porcelain. A strange noise sounded in the air.
It was me.

One hand covered my mouth. The other covered my head as it pressed into the bath.
I was tempted to bite down. I almost did. I wretched my hand away from my teeth, curling it around the back of my neck.

I screamed again. The pulsing pain in my head grew. I pushed myself even further against the tub.

If I smash my head enough, maybe I can make it all go away.
Maybe I can forget.

Forget.

I want to forget.
I want to forget the pain of losing someone who was part of my core. I want to forget the anger towards my mother. I want to forget how helpless and pathetic I feel.

I pushed myself to stand, my hands slipping on the wet walls. I dried myself off, sniffling into the towels. I clothed myself, the large t-shirt covering my unwanted body.

I stumbled to my room, eyeing the comforts of my bed.
My eyes weren’t focused. Certain objects were blurry.
But I knew what was there.

I knew the bed I slept alone in was just behind my knees. I knew the clothes I tossed haphazardly into the basket were just band-aids. I knew the walls, the floor, the air, were all part of the cage I felt trapped in.

My hands won’t stop trembling.

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