Character Shorts

5

I had another attack yesterday. It's been so long, I'd almost forgotten what it felt like, and so while it's still a fresh and disturbing memory, I'm going to write it down so that you understand what I go through. I want you to understand, because I need you to know that there's nothing you can do in these moments, and they're just something that happens, and I'm sorry.

It feels like there's a balloon in my chest, and it just keeps getting bigger and bigger, and pushing against my rips in a way that makes everything feel too small. The tightness makes it hard to breathe, any breath I do manage comes as a loud gasp, and they're as sporadic as they are uselessly intimidating. I'm aware of how little air is actually making its way into my lungs, and that brings with it a new level of panic, as every attempt to control what should be my most natural instinct reminds me of how broken I currently am. The only way I feel I can stop the heaving of my chest is to hold my breath entirely, and so I clasp a hand tight over my mouth and attempt to at least muffle the sounds that come with each intake, thinking that if I can trick myself into believing it's all calming down, then I might just remember how to stop it.

That hasn't worked yet.

My face is wet with tears that I keep wiping away without real intent. They don't really bother me, I should just let them fall. I already know that my eyes are unfocussed and red, and my lips are swollen, and I'll wake up the next day with a chewed up mouth and dishevelled fingers, both which have fallen victims to my anxiety. Tomorrow I will hate myself for it. I'll hate knowing that what was over in a matter of hours will be evident for days, and yet it's something I have no control over. I won't realise the harm I've done until it's too late, and it's an unwelcome reminder of how irrational I must look in the midst of an attack.

It's a difficult position to be in, because all I want is for someone to hold me, but I'm embarrassed to ask for it. I don't want to be seen, because I want people to know that I'm stronger. I don't want this to be my defining trait. Even to my mum, who helped me through last night, I feel like a hindrance. I feel ashamed when I can't give her a reason for my sudden outburst. When she asks what I was thinking about, how I triggered it, who was on my mind and when it started, and I cant answer her because I really can't remember. It doesn't always work like that. Sometimes it just happens, and I know that irritates my mum, because there's nothing for her to focus on. She wants a villain she can fight, and all can I give her is a shrug before I sink bank into a wave of hyperventilation. It must be frightening to see your daughter like that, and I know she spends the rest of the night awake, listening for the sounds I make in my sleep, afraid that I'll get like that again.