Panic kicks in. The adrenaline rushes, every time I walk past the door frame.
This is my own personal hell. It’s a state one enters when everything you seem to do has no meaning or when you simply lose the desire to function as a normal human being and you start to panic whenever you think about doing normal human things.
I have a whole room dedicated to those moments. It’s easy to find and easy to access. It’s always there, waiting for me, it has made itself comfortable.
When I start losing my mind, that’s where I go to cool off. When I start feeling pressure or anxiety over certain things, that is where I go to calm myself. When I feel rage and anger that’s where I go to forget it all.
It’s reliable, it keeps snack and beverages ready for me, it snuggles me with blankets when I need them. It comforts me in my rage moments, ensures me everything will be alright (like in that Alicia Keys song).
At this point, I feel comfortable to joke about it. I certainly wasn’t for a long time in the past but now I have come to terms with its existence. It’s a blessing but a curse as well, it means I have a place to hide but then again it means that at times I am running away, not facing.
It means I have a very dark side. It means I have built a safe haven over the thunder and storm that is my life because it was a necessity. I wish it wasn’t.
I wish I could just tare down the walls and escape all of this madness. Escape the panic room. Escape it to the other side.
But for now, I am gladly welcomed to the panic room, and so are you.