No time for weakness

I want to rip apart this cubicle.  I want to throw this computer monitor across the floor.  I want to punch the walls until my knuckles break and I can't feel them anymore.  I want to cry until the tears run dry, and scream until my voice is gone.  I want to rage, and fight and make lots of noise.  I try to maintain calm for the sake of those around me, but the panic attacks are coming.  I can feel them welling up inside my chest like that alien from that Ridley Scott movie waiting to burst out and show the world my gleaming insides.  And yet I keep my tongue, hold my breath, and pray to get through the day so I can sleep and forget one more night.  And then the next day it starts all over again.  No escape from the daily grind.  No savings to hold me over so I can have time to put my head back together.  No secret rich relative to leave me enough money to buy a shack in the woods so he will be allowed to come home to me, or better yet, buy a lawyer to tell the truth and get us out of this nightmare.  Still, I hold my tongue, swallow my fears, and pray for the strength to get through one more day.  Just one more.  Just one more.  It will all be worth it when it is over.  (Will it ever be over?)  Just when I think I can't make it through the day, the next day comes, and I have the nerve to be surprised that I made it.  And I'll be damned if I know how I did.