I ran into my bedroom,

chest puffing, muscles tightening

to extreme tensions

as if holding back a tiger

from it's snack.

The feeling didn't pass.

The vicious landscape of panic,

here again,

and I am helpless

to bulldoze the toppling

mounds.

Was it a smell?

A touch?

A sound?

Did I forget one of my self-care

routines?

Do I have a new need?

Mind is racing like an unchecked

river flooding the banks

spreading slowly until

mud covers every

cranny of sanity.

I recall my therapist's voice:

"You don't always have to know,

just let it happen."

I try breathing and shivering

without thinking.

A hard concept for someone

who has spent their years

on the lifeboat of thinking.

To suddenly let go of the ropes,

and feel myself fall

into bottomless emotions,

afraid of what will happen to me,

who I might become without

an anchor.

As if a switch is flipped,

my breathing slows,

and my racing heart

seems to find ground.

Well shit.

Letting go isn't poison after all.