Panic attack

Some people have butterflies in their stomachs, but I have a monster. When others butterflies flutter my monster roars. It has many hands, long bony hot fingers that scorch anything it touches. It starts with the heart, wrapping its long fingers around it until the heart begins pumping faster and faster trying to get free. Then another hand claws the trachea pinching the airway almost closed. As my heart beats harder, I gasp for breath barely choking an inhale before inhaling again. My heart burns from the scorching fingers and my lungs scream for air. The monster moves to my head. It begins whispering in my ear, "what if.." " how could you.." "-embarrassing-". As I hear these thoughts the air becomes thicker and thicker barely coming in at all. The monster puts its hands over my eye. The room spins in and out of focus turning around me as I lie there, a crumpled heaving body. The monster has won.

I hate the monster, and I hate the people who try to tame the monster telling me to relax when the monster doesn't care what they say. But most of all I hate the people with butterflies, who could never understand what it's like to have a monster.