Sometimes I can't. Can't anything. I have moments. In moments like these, I can't do really anything. I can't talk, I can't move, I can hardly breathe. And I either think too much, or too little. I think about wrongs I've done. Things I've seen. Things that have happened. Things that are my fault. Which, in my head is most everything.

     In these moments I'm too hot, I sweat, but I don't do anything about it because I can't move, or breathe. And that just makes me. . . I don't know the word for it.

    If someone tries to talk to me in this moment, I don't talk, I can't. And I can't hear them, and I can't see. I can't feel. I can just think. And I hate it. Because when I stop, lately, I'm crying. Or having a panic attack, or worse.