Describing a Panic Attack of Indigenous Origin...

By Allegra Gellar

Prologue: while in boot camp, I had some of the most amazing journeys into to my own imagination. I wrote songs in my head, during "kp". I read entire books in the shower at night. I drew tattoos that never have seen a tattoo artist. And, on occasion, I wrote truly off-the-wall things.

Here is one such piece, originally written in tiny letters on a tiny piece of paper from a notepad I was required to have on my person at all times:

Describing an Panic Attack of Indigenous Origin to the Uninitiated, Attempt #437:

...It was happening again. Nothing in Particular seemed to bring it on, and nothing could stop it. Without warning, her whole perspective shifted into a skew, an Escher stairway. Colors exploded, behind her eyes:

Vermilion, cobalt, phosphorescent celadon.

She could only stop what she was doing, and wait for the storm to pass. Her fingertips tingled, sweat pixeled her face, and her whole body vibrated. A mild tremor at first, the rhythmic inner shaking began. Her senses exploded into a cacophony of fireworks, strange stews of smells, sights and sounds that did not belong together in a symphony of chaos.

Electric sensations of pops and buzzes bled from her torso, mixed with impossible combinations of heat and cold, tightness and weakness, to her fingers and toes, where they seemed to expel themselves, or ricochet back into her body.

All the while, she felt a sense of murderous intent, battering pain and relentless, nameless agony. And fear. God, the fear. Fear of what? she never could put her finger on it, because it all would stop-suddenly as it began, and leave only a faint memory of how frightening the ride had been.

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