The blood pounded in my ears. My heart thudded in my chest. My hands shuddered. My balance was unseemly disproportionate. My eyes sped, side to side, slowly being vanquished by the fear instilled in me; the sense of impending doom taking over all sense of rationality. My vision disfigured, as if I was looking through a pair of fish-eye lenses. Dissociating and not present in this world. I had to leave. I had to get away. I had to get to safety. The trumpet I heard sharply sang a series of stabbing notes, carried by the wind like decaying autumn leaves, travelling through the gust of air, painfully into my ears. Autumnal leaves pirouetted across the serene sky. Sunsets bleeding across the horizon. Becoming more aware of the situation only resulted in a hectic amount of agony.
It was as if I was the puppet to somebody’s game; a simulation of one’s creation. I simply could not fathom the extent to what I was experiencing.
The need to escape was riveting. My hands clasped onto the pen I held, as my eyes widened at the paper. Colours seemed more vibrant, popping out of the page, in a haze of distortion. Sitting in a public park, encompassed by the seemingly soulless, contorted figures, may not have been much of a great idea. My chest was like an elastic band, surely it was going to snap and collapse at any second.
I could not bear to spend a minute more in my absent mind; I had to leave.
“Come on, you can do this” I reassuringly spoke to myself.
I attempted at soothing my spirits by repeating words and phrases I’d been taught in my therapy sessions.
‘You’re in control of your body,’ I kept encouraging myself, ‘You have all control.’
Steadily, I placed my feet on the ground beneath me, leaves crunching at the impact of my weight.
The sound itched my ears. I stood tall, in a façade of bravery, but was crumbling at the sheer influence this anxiety had on me. I could not carry on, I could not walk, I could not talk. All things done subconsciously, now became manual; requiring more effort than what I could muster.
I dragged my feet along the pavement, forcing them to work with me. Crossing the bridge that led to the edge of the park, I kept my eyes fixated on the trees. A flock of birds scrimmaging towards the breadcrumbs left out for them by a lone woman on the pavement.
As my gaze lingered and I became more aware of my surroundings, I glimpsed at a little boy being nudged and shoved around by some children taller than him. They were dangerously close to the roads, where cars sped without a care in the world for pedestrians crossing.
It was then when I came to the realisation of the jeopardy the boy was in.
My awareness shifted; my attention now on being the saviour to the little boy’s story
‘Come on, you can do this,’ I spoke to myself once again.
I wedged myself into their conversation, despite all that was already happening to myself.
‘What do you think you guys are doing?’ I asked, with a valiant front.
‘Shut up!’ replied the head troublemaker, his little minions snickering behind him.
They disregarded my interference and continued to kick the little boy around. I intruded in on their disheartening mission to hurt this poor boy once again. Only this time, I stood in between them.
With my vision still being a cloud of warped imagery, I stumbled slowly between the circle they’d created.
‘Stop!’ I managed to confidently scream. My mind was still running frantically, but I just knew I had to save this boy, even if it was the last thing I did.
‘No!’ they retaliated, with an audacious attitude.
They thrust me out the way and found their way back to the little boy, who was now sat on the floor with his legs tucked into his chest. Empathy flooded my chest, taking me back to a time not worth reminiscing. With a big heave, the leader forced him onto the road.
That’s when my instincts kicked in. I screamed and hauled at the boys; they ran away. It was tough, but I managed to continue.
Hurrying towards the boy, whose life was now in immediate danger, I could feel all the adrenaline rush to my cheeks. I wasn’t a devoted admirer to being in the middle of a road, I just had to save this boy.
The little boy was bruised and scarred. He was led down in defeat, his face in the road. I could hear his helpless cries. I tapped his shoulder as he turned his head.
‘Are you going to hurt me too?’ he softly whispered.
A pang of pain stabbed through my chest.
‘No, no. Definitely not.’
‘What are you doing then?’
‘I’m just trying to help.’
‘Okay,’ he faintly spoke.
Gently, I picked him up. The adrenaline had helped ease the state I was in, I just wanted to save him. We immediately rushed off the road. I offered to walk him home so he could steer clear of the vile children that were so adamant on making his life miserable.
As I spoke to him and heard his story, I came to a quick revelation.
His careful disposition, his brace façade, his reassuring phrases.
He was a reflection of myself.
The state I was in, the journey I’d gone through, it was all similar. The only difference being my bully wasn’t literal, it was my mind.
I needed to save him because I needed to save myself.
