sword

It’s Not About Me

I keep having to tell myself that:  It’s not about me, I say.  And then fifteen seconds later it becomes about me again.  Pretty silly, isn’t it?

When I go outside wearing a mask, I can’t breathe.  I get light-headed; there’s a tightness in my chest; I get dizzy.  My lungs are going like a bellows in a steel mill and my heart’s like a jackhammer.  It’s called a panic attack, they tell me, though like Paul Vitti I object strongly to that term.  To me, it’s that I’m overheating and can’t get enough air.  That will always be my private interpretation, no matter that my brain tells me otherwise. (more…)