|
Misery - An Anxiety Attack |
|
|
|
|
|
|
Do you know how it feels to hear everything? To never know what NOT to hear? To feel too much to express? My nails tear at my scalp. My ears ring, begging for mercy. My eyes squeeze shut. Who wants to hear everything AND see everything, after all?
I feel afraid. I feel overwhelmed. I feel like the world is out to get me. After all... no one helps. A few ask if I'm all right. The question jars me even more. Do I look all right? I don't answer. Judging stares... I can almost hear THEM, too. All the people, watching me, wondering what MY problem is.
I cover my ears, my nails digging into my skin. The teacher asks me if I need to leave the room. I barely hear him. I start to lose focus, blurring everything, but only for a moment. Then, everything is sharp again. Noises are too loud, too pitchy. Voices sound over-exaggerated and dramatic. No one matters.
The teacher repeats his question. I nod frantically and sprint out the door to the bathroom, letting out racking sobs as I run. I've never run so fast. Once in the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall, sit on the toilet, and let myself cry. I silence myself quickly as more girls walk in, laughing and chattering loudly. Too loudly. Too shrilly. It makes me even worse, but I'm trapped. If I leave the stall, I just have to return to the shrill classroom, and deal with them asking me if I'm all right.
Do I LOOK all right?
After several minutes they leave, and I'm free again, but I've made myself stop crying, and cannot make myself begin again. As soon as the painful ringing in my ears goes away, I return to the room. People turn and look at me as I come in. Turn and look at the weirdo who had to leave the room.
No one asks me any questions. They all avert their eyes awkwardly when they see me look at them. Be polite. Don't ask why she's a weirdo. Don't ask what happened. She's dealt with enough today. I try my best to keep up with the lesson while ignoring their stares. It's enough to make me want to burst into tears again, but I keep them inside.
It's not always this way. Once, the attack barely lasted.
In the hall. Too many people, too many conversations at once. One minute, I'm curled up on her lap... The next, I'm trying not to be touched, covering my ears and closing my eyes, shaking. She doesn't hesitate like everyone else does. She lifts my head gently and inserts her earbuds into my ears, playing slow music, a gentle acoustic guitar. No lyrics. Just calm, peaceful strumming. I curl up next to her and rest my head on her shoulder, listening to the sounds.
When I've calmed down enough, she takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. She takes one earbud, listens to it for a moment to test the tempo, and returns it to me. Then she pulls me closer, and she dances with me.
 FN Pixie · Mon Sep 20, 2010 @ 09:13pm · 0 Comments |
|
|
|
|
|
