In the dark, with my covers tucked into my shoulders the pain arrives.
I should be sleeping, but my mind will not stop reminding me of each and every one of my bad decisions.
In the dark, it whispers in my ear that I am a failure.
Nothing I have done matters or will ever do will lift me out of this cycle of poverty and worry.
It can hear me swallow accepting what I am hearing my truth.
It can hear my heartbeat beat damn near out my chest and my ears close and all I can focus on are these horrid stories about my future and listen to my heart beat pounding in my head.
I feel a warm wave of shame roll from the back of my neck, over my scalp and settle on my chest. It is warm, but not comforting. It is dark but I know my face and chest are bright red.
My breath becomes shorter and shallower and it is not long before very little air is getting into my lungs. I can feel little movement in my breath, just enough to allow my torturer to maintain control.
I am pinned to the bed, unable to move or breathe.
It knows it has me immobile so it keeps whispering. It has 47 years of fuck ups to remind me of and to weave together a narrative that shows I have a long timeline of making bad choices and wasting opportunities.
It tells me again that I am a failure and too stupid to break this cycle.
I lay there frozen, crying begging for it to stop. I have already seen this.
I see it every night.
I know it by heart. I can tell you the whole story without my anxiety attack leading the charge.