Panic

When I am having an anxiety attack, I walk as if I am drunk.
I see things, and then I don't. Until I decide that I didn't see them after all and step forwards.
And then bam! There they are, directly in my path.
Today I stumbled out in front of a blue jeep.
They swerved but didn't beep. I wouldn't have blamed them if they'd blasted their car horn. Or stopped the car to shout.
I caught sight of the drivers face for a moment.
She looked confused, and then concerned, and then disgusted.
I could hear her in my head "That young lady, with her holey jeans and her clumping boots and her raggedy cardigan. Gone. And it's not even noon. Probably drugs. This used to be a nice neighborhood."
No ma'am, I mean yes ma'am I am, on drugs. But this kind, not that kind. And I'm not drunk, I don't even really drink. It's my body, it's my body, it's my body, it's my body, it's my body, it's my body-
And oh shit, I'm stuck. If you have to do that, repeat something constructive-
I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay-
My mind I can quiet, mute with some effort, my body is a different story.
Still stumbling, I think I might fall soon. I hope I don't fall.
And now. Electric shocks running from my chest to my middle finger.
I'm a live wire. I could believe, in this moment, that if I reached out and pushed up a palm, a building across the street would collapse. Under a beam of pure energy.
Or if I pointed my finger. Like that Roald Dahl story.
Or I could believe that I was about to succumb to a fit.
I don't have epilepsy. They tested me when I was small.
It's just my body. It's just my mind.
I'm okay.
I hope I don't fall