Is this story public? it sounds incredible, would love to read it if it is.

His words sunk deep into my mind and I felt terror creeping it’s way up from the pit of my stomach.
I couldn’t breathe.
The man was still talking but he sounded a million miles away. I clasped at the table as the world started spinning.
Why couldn’t I breathe?
I could hear my breath coming in short frantic gasps.
What was happening?
A grey haze crept across my vision and I frantically looked around, trying to find something, anything, to pull me back to reality.
Someone else was talking. My mind registered the voice but not the words.
“Saber.”
My name. It was the female detective. She had risen from her seat and walked to stand where the man had been before. She was clasping my shoulders, shaking me.
“Saber.”
I took a deep shuddering breath and focused on her face.
“What…what happened?” I asked, my voice rough and quiet.

Looking at the 3 replies following the fictional account, the reality of a panic attack becomes more clear: You are dying. You don’t feel like you’re dying you don’t think that you’re dying You are dying !

The fact that one may somehow find oneself, in another time of alternate space, back in the familiar world of flesh and granite is entirely irrelevant. Irreparably damaged, the self of sunken eyes tries to scream but retreats, having made no sound.
Falling to earth in an elevator gut sac, quivering; trembling; status denatured; a sharper nausea than i birthed of my own child. I fear what has to be vomit. Reduced to arrhythmic contraction the horrors are gut-piped back up. splintered undreamed – this uncured hambody bellies soft muscle retching – circular and serpentine gashed Death Stars too massive to hold inside rip outward. When the black hole pulled you apart, and turned your outsides in- spectral imposters hollow and dead. The race of shadow manikins radiates naught, pulls frayed rope despair to fix upon only, the absence of where life had been. Reverently alone like the seven year old church child, supine, clawing and gasping at stale air with a hangman’s noose dropped through one troup rouge like some zombie undead fetus unborn of the dormeur du val.

Perhaps a mere taste….

Okay, it’s probably too late for anything I say to help since your comment was 3 years ago, but I absolutely love your slam poetry. (If you have tips, I’d be grateful! I want to write some of my own, but I have no idea how to start)

Hello! You wrote this comment 4 years ago but I wanted to tell you that this comment truly helped me out! Thank you for providing this information! Have a wonderful day and please stay safe

Hey Lily,

This excerpt intrigued me. If you don’t mind, I would like to read the whole story. Thanks.

Hi! So, I was checking out how to write a panic attack and reading how others had written it and then I came across your excerpt. I really liked it. I know it’s a long shot that you will answer me and even do what I’m about to ask, but I’d love to read the whole storyor book or whatever. If this bothers you, please feel free ignore it, but you’ve got a really good hand. Thanks!