Member-only story
Lived Through This
Counting Wolves as Sheep
Insomnia, panic, and salvation through poetry
May 3
You finally make it home from work. Something’s wrong and you have no idea what it is. The only way you know how to describe it is that you felt your soul slide halfway out of your body and get stuck there during lunch. To pull it back was impossible. To push it out meant death. Your co-worker didn’t notice, too busy teaching a master class in complaining about his job. The air around you vanished and darkness closed in, as relentless and inescapable as a flood. You would drown if you stayed there, so you excused yourself and walked to the exit while trying to keep it together. You counted your steps to normalize your gait, swinging your arms at the same arc and frequency, keeping your head straight with a phony smile and a cheerful nod to no one and everyone.
Outside, you walked to the nature trail near the building and then ran until your legs ached. Sweat seeped through your starched shirt, turning it patchy with spots two shades darker than the rest. You ran until the darkness receded and you could breathe again. You celebrated how you outran it with a throaty release of exhaustion and fear. You couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a scream.
