Tides

I had another panic attack last night. Somewhere around 3.14 in the morning and the moment I fell asleep when the sun is high in the sky. I stopped putting reasons and logic to it by now, knowing that I'd only be repeating the same speech in my head like a broken record.
Not like it helps anyway.

I countered a passage, in a Sabriel fanfic, that I feel is beautiful.

"It's not a fight. There's no winning or losing. It's an ocean. The tide comes in and the tide goes out. When it comes in, you just have to do a little swimming, that's all."

It's a tide.

How accurate.

There were times when reasons and logic would've been my rock, I suppose. But reasons and logic don't explain shit about my mental crap. Don't do shit about why or when or how this kind of crap still happens to me -in me. Emotions have no logic. And I hate everything about them, both of them.

It was a pleasant thought that I carry to bed. Thoughts of tinkling laughter and easy companionship. Of requited affections and fond ruffles to the head. My lips quirked a smile.
Just as easily, pitch black faces splattered all over the place, an orchestra of ear-splitting screams and gargles. A stretching of the vocal cords, on and on and on and on it went.

In a matter of seconds, fire engulfed my insides and I was left curled on my bed, tasting vomit and bile in my throat.

Images of bloodied arms and legs, fine lines of scars dotting the red skin.
Voices counting the sharp tools in my vicinity. No blades. No scissors. How about the needle pins?
They wouldn't do much damage. Shame. They're not for slicing, they're for pricking.

I lost sense of time.
Vaguely, I registered the light beginning to filter through the blinds.

So I waited for blackness to take me.