Cross-legged, I sit on
the floor
in the middle of my
bedroom.
I'm thinking the worst
thoughts.
The cons about myself
in the
midst of what I call
panic mode.

You're not good
enough.
You're not pretty.
You are a
disappointment.
You are utterly
hopeless.
You are this. You
aren't that.

Still, I sit motionless on
the floor,
but a whirlwind
of thoughts
circle around my
head
ready to strike at
my soul.
So, I look down at my
hands
and all I can do is start
to cry.

Saltwater explodes out
of my
tear ducts and my nose
stuffs.
The thoughts do indeed
strike
as I intake a breathe
and my
chest implodes and tries to
push the
debris out when I exhale.

I wrap my arms around
myself
to keep the debris from
oozing
out of my mouth onto
the floor.
I can feel my face is
soaked
and my arms lose grip
around

my petite and too skinny
body.
Just one more con to
believe.
I dig my nails into my
arms to
keep hold of my chest
which
rises and falls even
faster now.

Tiny gasps escape
from my
throat and I choke on
tears that
find their way to my
mouth.
Blood trickles between
my finger
nails from clenching
too tight.

My breathing then
slows. Relief.
I let my nails remove
themselves
from freshly punctured
skin.
I raise from the floor
to wash
my hands in the bathroom.
I look
in the mirror at myself.

Eyes bloodshot and
puffy.
Cheeks pink. Shaky hands.
and I
find one good thing about
me.
I can make what I feel
on the
outside what I feel on
the inside.