FOUND

the deep end

a panic attack is like swimming in the deep end of a 12-foot pool.
you jump off the diving board because there was a toy at the bottom and you're a big kid, you can handle the deep end.
you dive head first, kicking your legs as fast as you can, stretching your arms out in front of you.
you make it to the bottom and reach around for the toy. you left your goggles on the sun chair next to your mom so you're reaching around aimlessly for a toy that you were certain was in this very spot.
your fingers graze the end of the plastic ring as you decide to give up and head back to land.
you leave the toy behind and push yourself off the bottom of the pool.
you're kicking faster than you were before because you can feel your lungs burning for air.
you open your eyes to see the surface right above you.
you can't make it, you can't make it, you can't make it.
you're almost there but you breathe too soon and your lungs are filled with chlorine and urine infested waters.
everyone is standing at the concrete edges of the water, wondering what the hell is so hard about coming up for air.
you've made it to the surface but you're still coughing up water. you blush red in embarrassment when you see everyone staring.
they're all looking at you. they're all looking at you. they're all looking at you.
you trudge back to your mother and your towel, and stay there wrapped in comfort until it's time to go home.
you're not a big kid anymore. you can't handle the deep end.