Crawling

'How's your mind today?' DH asks me.

'Fine.' I say

'Anything new? Different?' He continues.

'No.' I respond.

He looks at me knowing exactly what I don't want to say.  He knows that I'm trying to stand up straight and not falter.  He knows that I am simply trying to avoid the anxiety that takes over like a swarm of bees.

'I need some water.' I say to him.

I can no longer stand there, in the kitchen, in front of him because my breathing becomes shallow and I become slightly dizzy.  The cadence of his voice is soft and gentle but the panic attack that is happening to me forces me crawling away to gather the smallest inhale.

'Okay, I'll bring you the water.' He says.

I'm sitting at the couch trying to gather myself but I cannot.  I cannot breathe freely.  I cannot hear clearly. I cannot focus or feel or sustain my erratic breathing.

'Thank you.' I say as he hands over the water.

I drink.

I wait.

Slowly, the panic subsides.  Slowly the anxiety dissipates.  Slowly my breathing changes.

Then come the bursting tears.  The tears are accompanied by sobs.  The pain of it all.
The helpless emotion of feeling suffocated.

'Nobody knows this side of you.' He says.

'I'm not sure.  Why?' I ask.

'Anyone that sees you only sees the strength about you, what you exude.  You carry yourself in a certain way.  I don't think that anyone would imagine you like this.'  He says.

'This is the raw me, though.' I say.

Sometimes the crawling is all I can do...