Trash Bag

I suffer badly with panic and anxiety attacks which trigger off my OCD. I don’t know whether it is all the social isolation and coronavirus issues triggering off my illness, but it is a nightmare at the moment. Here’s something I wrote yesterday after getting through one prolonged attack that left me bedridden…

Afternoon’s here
Again
Not been a bad morning
But I can feel
That feeling
Creeping
Badass gatecrasher
Sanity stealing
Soon I’ll be dealing
With the
Shit-hits-the-fan
Fallout

Leave me alone
In my bed
My sanctity pit
I feel like
I don’t
Fit
Into this
Fucking world
Anxiety has stolen
Me away
Again
Heart hammers
A thousand thoughts
Stammer
OCD has to
Stick its pristine face in
Pass me a fuckin
Arsenic laced
Tequila slammer
Please

Its times like these where
I wonder if my mind
Is just one big
Lying sin
And my life is just
A trash bag
For keeping my
Fucked up emotions in

And I just want to
Curl up and hide
I just want to
Get off this
Shit kid’s ride
If I don’t get off
Soon
They’ll put me
Back
In-fucking
side.

©2020 Sarah Drury

My Son Had a Panic Attack

I have a son with Autism and he has bad anxiety and sometimes hallucinates. I have been trying to get him sleeping in his own bedroom (he’s 12) but last night he had a really bad panic attack and was hallucinating. It breaks my heart…

Oh, my son
The tears dripping down your ashen face
Falling from deep within, a place
Where childhood dreams turn sour
Where the careless day becomes the anxious hour
And the hallucinations and nightmares come to devour
Your poor mind.

The sobs become cries become yells become screams
With the nightmares victorious over suffocated dreams
And you shake
And you shake
And your carefree spirit aches
And the bastard anxiety takes
What sanctity I try to make
In your head
Your screwed-up head.

Once a joyous ocean
But now a choked-up lake
And every day you fake
Every day to school your smiles you take
Like a cyanide laden cake
That you eat alone.
And you choke
On your insecurities
Gone are the childhood ways
The sitting on your mother’s knee
While she kisses your sore finger better
And hello
To this inability
To grow
Hello to the nasty fucking paranoia
And the seeds the anxiety sows
And the fear that through this wrecked bundle of autism and emotional delays
Flows

And I cannot see what you are seeing my love
I cannot feel the fear
As faceless faces fly towards your eyes
And your desperate breath escapes
To some nightmare psychosis place
And anxiety invades your only safe space
With your mother.

We have the experts
Three years fucking with assessments and funding
Yet that can’t buy a boy a crystal mind
Put the textbooks down and take a look behind
Your degrees
And your astronomical fees
And set this boy free
For this anomaly
Will not die if he
Always feels alone
If his mother’s omnipotent love he cannot see.
And another brick in the Pink Floyd wall he will grow up
To be.

©2020 Sarah Drury