Poetry

Elizabeth

 

Before I knew what a panic attack was, or how to come down– to count and breathe, or name five things you can see, hear, touch, and taste, or any of the other methods a good therapist will give you– I had my own method. I would list all the nicknames you can make from the name Elizabeth.

 

liz liza lizzy elle ellie ella beth 

betty bette betsy

libby lib letty 

eliza etta

zabby 

 

I didn’t know anyone named Elizabeth. But I liked how every time I thought I was done listing, there would be one more,

until my breathing slowed down.

 

Elizabeth walks ahead of me at the park, coaxing her puppy to move faster through the grass. We’re going to be late.

 

Don’t fight the anxiety my therapist says in my head because it’ll only get 

worse. Accept it. What do you want for yourself? 

For it to go away.

Pushing it down only makes it bigger. Let yourself feel. 

Ask yourself: can I tolerate it? 

Sweat glistens on the back of Ely’s neck. The one spelling I never thought of. I want to reach out and touch it, taste the salt,

late or not.

Yes, I can tolerate it.