By Chanchal Yadav
It starts in the silence—subtle, unseen,
A crack in the calm where I used to feel clean.
No trigger, no trauma I’m able to name,
Just a sudden descent in a body aflame.
My breath becomes theory, my chest turns to stone,
In crowds I still vanish, like breath turned to bone.
My heart races wildly—no finish, no track,
Like it's fleeing a threat that won’t ever turn back.
My hands tremble slightly, then not quite at all,
As if even my fingers have learned not to call.
This isn’t just worry—it’s war in the brain,
A flood with no rain, just invisible pain.
I smile through the fracture, perform being fine,
While drowning beneath my own faulted design.
They say, “It’s just panic,” like that helps—
Like standing on edges with no one to call.
And still—
somehow, I get back up.
Maybe not strong and steady,
but I try again—
even when no one sees it.
Even when it’s just me
and the noise in my head.
If you've ever felt like you're crushing
and no one can tell—
if you've sat with shaking hands
and a smile that hides the storm—
I hope you know this:
you are more than what panic can steal.
You are proof that the broken
still heal.