Panic Attack
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I’ve been on stage hundreds of times but this is the first time I have a panic attack underneath a spotlight.
At first I feel fine, a little nervous, but that’s normal. Tells me I’m ready to perform.
But when I take the mic I don’t feel comfortable, like my skin isn’t my own, like my eyes might disappear into my skull.
I think I’ll shake it off, this will be fine, so I start a poem but only get through the first few lines before I forget everything. All the words I’ve poured over for days slip out of my head like a half-dead fish and I just stand in the silence of this room with all those eyes looking up at me, and feel the weight of sweat pour out of my shaking head as my heartbeat starts to drumline a wave of panic down my spine.
And I try to explain myself. I’m going to sit in this emotion, I say, met by a supportive round of applause that I’m grateful for but which also acts to tell me that something’s gone wrong because I never need this, this reassurance that I’ll be okay, not when I’m on stage.
This is my safe place and now I feel in danger because I can’t remember a single fucking word, all their faces look like strangers.
So I sweat and fumble in silence, trying to catch my breath, trying to be okay, survive this ego death.
And then I ask for my phone to be passed through the crowd,
compose myself, begin to read the work,
performing through a panic attack,
feel the bruising of an ego hurt.
[I’m okay now, don’t worry]