“But I don’t want to go among mad people,” Alice remarked.
“Oh, you ca’n’t help that,” said the Cat: “we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad.”
“How do you know I’m mad?” said Alice.
“You must be,” said the Cat, “or you wouldn’t have come here.”
(Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, “Pig and Pepper”)
I recently had a piece published in Open Minds Quarterly, a print publication from NISA (the Northern Initiative for Social Action), based in Sudbury, Ontario. Thanks to Ella Jane Myers and everyone at the journal for their interest in “Breath.” You can purchase a print copy of the spring 2019 issue on the OMQ website.
“Breath” is memoir. I seem to be writing more memoir these days. I’m of two minds about it. On one hand, I have to ask myself why I do it. How is my experience of the world more worth writing about than anyone else’s? It isn’t, of course. I feel something like pain whenever I hear of someone’s story that is brushed off, made light of, or just forgotten. On the other hand, I’m drawn in by the process. And not necessarily with my own story, but with telling it, if that makes any sense.
I wrote “Breath” ages ago, but I revised it specifically for the call from Open Minds Quarterly. I’m very glad they accepted it for their spring 2019 issue. You can read the first paragraph below. You can read more by purchasing a copy and supporting the journal.
And if you know someone who suffers from panic disorder, or any other anxiety inducing disorder, gently direct them to a place they can get some help. If you’re a student, go talk to someone in counceling services. If you aren’t a student, talk to your doctor, or find a support group online. I lived with panic disorder for fifteen years before I even knew it had a name. If you suffer from panic disorder, then you will suffer, whether you are alone or in the company of others. Suffering, like joy, is best shared.
“Trouble breathing—sudden panic. Why can’t I breathe. My head is spinning. We are driving. Am I going to pass out? My voice sounds distant as I try to say something is wrong. It sounds to my ears as though someone else is speaking. I wonder, in a distant chamber of my brain, if I’m about to pass out. Maybe I’m dying.”