Driven by a strangled vein

Claustrophobic--that word describes how I feel and how I've felt. But it's not just the actual sensation of being closed-in or drowning in breathlessness--actually, it is exactly a collection of those sensations. What it is not only is not only caused by crowds of people or being in small spaces, for I have claustrophobia right now, as I type, alone in my spacious room. My claustrophobia floods me with thoughts and emotions and sensations: I'm constantly chasing and never catching; I'm constantly being chased and always trying to flee. I suffocate internally while breathing normally externally.

All that mind movement makes me tired. I'm constantly tired. Even when I have energy, I'm tired. ***When I speak, I feel that my voice is clawing it's way out of its box, up my throat, scraping the roof of my mouth as it fights the inhale while it tries to exit through the narrow separation of my lips. ***When I step, I feel every muscle and tendon working, laboring to move my machine forward--I hear my bones cry out in laziness, wanting to be sedentary and reluctantly cooperating, like hopeless romantics, wishing there was something exciting to move toward but knowing there is nothing interesting ahead. ***When I'm still, I feel that the arteries and veins that give and take and keep me pulsating are narrowing and constricting any endorphins that may try to sneak by--smiling platelets are not allowed.

I have been shimmy-shooked and stranded--in claustrophobia. But I'm positive I'm moving toward something light and breezy and vast. So I continue to trudge, driven by the strangled vein that twists through my left thigh. I must keep working my way through the tangle if I ever want to comb smoothly.

But I need to be still right now. I'm tired.