I hightail it out of the stuffy, awkward group therapy and run towards my room.
Hearing everyone share stories has me feeling triggered and anxious and full of bad feelings. I swallow stiffly and try to push back those emotions, but to no avail. But I can't let them consume me.
I stop abruptly at the door and lean against the exterior, breathing heavily, my head spinning, but mostly in a good way, from the quick run. I couldn't stop my hyperventilation, as overwhelming emotion started to swallow me up and I felt actual tears prick the edges of my eyes.
I feel a scream trapped in my throat, fighting to get out, and the only reason I resist is that I don't want to burst into tears.
I hate emotions. I try so hard to cover them up but I have them. I hate it. It makes me feel vulnerable. It's like a target on my back. 'Hit me here, I'm weak.'
I slide down to the floor, tucking my knees under my chin. I rock back and forth, the lightheadedness spreading until I see dark spots.
One of the hardest things to do is pull yourself from a panic or anxiety attack.
And I don't know how I did it, but I did. I don't remember how long I was sitting there. I don't know if anyone passed or saw. I couldn't bring myself to care.
Eventually, my breathing had slowed, but I felt exhausted and drained, both physically and emotionally. I stood to open the door only to realize that it wasn't mine.
I sighed and trudged down the hall. I inserted the key and with a slight click, the door swung open slowly to reveal Alex curled at the foot of his bed, shaking.
At first, I ignored him. We were a school of messed up kids, but we could deal on our own. He didn't need me.
I set my backpack down, kicked off my shoes, and hung up my jacket. I looked over at Alex. He'd stopped shaking, seemingly asleep.
He was fine. That proved it.
I undid my ponytail and put on a long sleeved sweater and pajama shorts, then climbing into my bed and falling into an exhaustion induced sleep.
I didn't rest very long until a piercing scream shook the walls of the room and woke me up. It was Alex.
I climbed out of bed, using my phone as a flashlight, to see him shaking again, this one sitting up, tears threatening to pool out of his eyes.
Maybe it was group therapy. Maybe it was my anxiety attack. Maybe it was pity.
But I crossed the room and spoke to him.
"Hey," I called softly. "Alex?" His eyes snapped to me, hands still trembling. "You alright?" He nodded yes instinctively, and I rolled my eyes. Did he forget who I was? I could see through his lie as if I had my glasses on.
"Do you want me to get help?" A furious head shaking no.
I walked over to the edge of his bed and sat down on the carpeted floor next to it.
"What happened?"
"Nightmare." He croaked out after some deliberation. A sheen of sweat shone on his face as he gulped nervously and his hands shook pitifully. I instinctively grabbed his hands and stilled them.
"I get nightmares too sometimes. Do you get them a lot?"
He nodded.
"What was it about?"
He shook his head, looking away, hiding something painful behind his eyes.
His hands kept trembling so I laced my fingers through his. Slowly, his heart rate started to calm down and he drifted asleep.