Choking

I am choking. On thoughts and regrets and deaths that have not yet occurred. I see dreams being crushed, families being lost, futures never being fulfilled. A papercut becomes a severed leg and a sandwich with mustard, though I specifically asked for no fucking mustard!, hits my week like a hurricane. 

Occasionally, I overreact to the smallest things in life.

I am dramatic. Neurotic. Anxious. Fearful. And regretful for decisions not yet made. 

Sometimes I need to stop and just take a deep breath, but my lungs don't seem to be working and this air is far too thin and my past is hitting me like a runaway train. And I am jealous. For I wish I could be like my past--a runaway train.
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But I can't. I can't run, because I can't breathe. I am choking.