The darkness explodes

and engulfs my world.

Cold envelops my heart,

tightens my chest,

steals my breath.

A fog gathers in my head.

I cannot see.

Thunder crashes through my mind.

I cannot hear.

I breathe,

fast, erratic, shallow.

Cold beads of sweat

gather on my brow.

I want to cower,

to hide,

to fold myself

into the smallest space I can

and wait.

Wait for this thing to pass.

Wait for the darkness to retreat.

Wait to become

me again.

And then someone asks,

“How are you?”

“Fine,” I reply.

My go-to lie.

Because I know

it will come again.

Perhaps harder.

Perhaps longer.

And still,

I’ll be fine.