An Open Letter to Anyone Who Has Witnessed My Panic Attack

To anyone who has seen me having a panic attack, I am sorry. I am sorry for making you feel like you have to stay with me even when you don’t. I am sorry for putting you in an uncomfortable situation that neither of us are equipped for. I am even sorry for apologizing for having to write this letter.

My mind is against me sometimes …. all the time actually. It makes me feel like I am not worthy of love or support from anyone. It makes me question everything I know and everything I do. Combine that with regular interactions with people and you have me, a contained hot mess. That is, until I’m not so contained anymore. I am sorry.

Appearances mean the world to me. MY appearance matters. It’s the only thing I can control in a world where I can’t even control a single thought of mine…

… Like the lock on Pandora’s box, I so desperately want to keep everything in, but I know at some point, it’s bound to spill out. For that, I am sorry.

I will never be 100% sure of anything in my life. I just don’t know how to. I need to constantly be reassured, but I don’t want to bother you. There are these voices in my mind. They sound like me. They are me. “No one knows you like you know yourself”. Funny. I don’t know me, but these voices do. They know my weaknesses and play with them anytime life’s been a bit too boring.
I am sorry.

If you want to leave, I don’t blame you. I envy you. I encourage you. I am a lot of work and sometimes I don’t know what to do. I’ll look to you for answers even when you don’t have anything. Hearing anything but my own thoughts is a lot better sometimes. But at the same time, I don’t want to annoy you. I don’t know what to do. I can be scary. I scare myself. I love myself. I hate myself.
I am sorry.

Do I sound pathetic yet? I repeat that to myself every time I can’t breathe. Every time I feel nauseous. Every time my ears ring. Every time my hands hurt and oh my god they hurt so bad. It’s actually funny how much a little tingle in the tip of my finger can send me into a whirlwind of confusion. Yeah, I sound pathetic. I’ll stop.
I am sorry.

As I write this, I cannot focus. The voices use a spoon to stir up my thoughts. They never stop stirring – I wonder if they ever will. Who is – Why am I – Did they just-

Are you eager to know? Me too. Thoughts evade my brain as new ones push their way through. How inconsiderate. But who do I blame?

The voices say me so I guess all I can say now is, I am sorry.