Panic Attack

My chest hurts. 

My heart hurts. 

My stomach is on fire. 

Fear consumes me and it will not stop. 

It's a panic attack, but it's tinted with despair, and the sense of being trapped as a rat. The money, the isolation, the loss of everything I used to be and the iron-clad fact that nothing of what it was will ever be again, the certitude that nothing will ever be as I dreamed of and the uncertainty of what will become of tomorrow drive me insane. 

They, the ones that my parents warned me about, the ones who know everything I did and that will twist it to use against me.

The certainty that I will lose what little I have any second now.

And the undeniable fact that I'm all alone, buried alive with that terror slithering in my ears, and I CANNOT ASK ANYBODY FOR HELP. 

Please let me die. Please. 

Give me death if you're not going to give me happiness. 

I'll take nothingness if I can't have peace. 

I'll have oblivion if health is out of my reach. 

Somebody, anybody, MAKE IT STOP. 

Me we WE ARE We are still here.

 The figments the constructs the things that were left behind 

We're here. We're still here.

(Text written during, guess what, a panic attack. Just like the one I'm having right now).