The Writers' Circle

I'm uncertain of which metaphor to use, 
but honestly and completely its like water,
pushing you down, pushing you wherever it wants,
because why do you think you can control that?
and you try a steal a breath,
and you try and reach the surface,
but the panic just grows,
and much like in the water,
your thoughts cannot control themselves,
they are of their own body, 
screaming, whispering, every voice,
is inside your head, 
and they all see the visage,
and hear the laughter, 
and you pretend you dont fucking hate yourself sometimes,
but you've just got to decide, 
when that water is ticking, 
and your heart thumps away, 
do you want to catch a breathe?