Lilog224ever
Some nights, the world disappears, and all that's left is the storm inside. My body moves before my mind can catch up. My hands shake. My chest tightens. My heart races. Thoughts spin faster than I can follow. Panic creeps through every limb, uninvited and unstoppable, dragging me into chaos I cannot control.
I've warned those around me - "Don't give me anything that will stimulate me. I can't handle it. I might spiral. I might have multiple panic attacks at once." But even with warnings, the storm hits. Shaking begins. Breathing becomes a battle. Blackouts arrive without mercy. Voices distort. Faces blur. Time warps. And yet, in that fractured reality, I survive. Minute by minute. Hour by hour.
This is not just anxiety. This is living with panic attacks, blackouts, trauma, and the consequences of a body and mind pushed beyond their limits. Every detail matters: the trembling, the words that slip out in other languages, the silent narrating I do just to stay present, the grounding rituals that pull me back from vanishing entirely.
I write because someone else might be trapped in their own storm and need to know they are not alone. I write because survival isn't always loud, and strength isn't always visible. I write to show that even when panic steals control, when the body moves faster than the mind, and when fear screams louder than reason, there is a way back - there is a way to breathe again, to be here, to keep going.
This is my journey. My voice. My truth. The storm is inside me, but I am still alive.