Panic Attack

I was taking a shower today when the air became heavy.

“Panic Attack,” said my brain.

The water droplets from the shower head began to feel overwhelming. I started to drown.

“It’s happening,” said my brain. “Get out!”

I reached for the faucet, and as I twisted the nob to “off”, the waterfall was still engulfing me.

“Breathe,” commanded my brain.

I couldn’t. I desperately gasped for air as I climbed out of the tub.

I sat, my head spinning, my stomach overcome with nausea.

“Breathe!” yelled my brain.”Follow my directions!”

My body could not comprehend the messages. I somehow ended up on my bed. The room was spinning. I was sweating, my heart was overworking.

I clenched my fists and attempted deep breaths; I was waiting for the suffocation to end. My brain was gone, it was lost in the medley of complications. Th dizziness was consuming me.

Instead of my brain, it was my body that was frantically yelling, “Panic Attack!”

My numb hands, the beads of sweat occupying my forehead, the suffocation, the fear.

It was gone as soon as it started. Those ten minutes were spent in agony.

“Panic Attack,” my brain whispered.

 

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Are You Proud of Me?

“Are you proud of me?”

I turned to my parents, expecting a vibrant smile and an enthusiastic “of course, sweetheart.” But no. I received a shrug of indifference. I was nine.

“How did I do?”

I turned to my parents, expecting looks beaming with pride and my father saying “That girl right there, that’s my daughter.” But no. I was given a list of mistakes. I was eleven.

“Do you think I can do this?”

I turned to my parents, expecting encouraging nods and my mother saying, “I know you can do this.” But no. I was given a hasty shove and expectant expressions.  I was thirteen.

I am now sixteen, sitting on the bathroom floor tearing at my skin with a placid expression, my ears ringing from the screams of wonderment as to why I can never do anything right.

“Are you proud of me?”

Please say yes, I need to hear that I am worthy like I need to breathe air.

I need to feel accepted by you, my dear parents, because you are why I am on the earth.

If not, what’s the point?

 

 

 

San Francisco

The city was a filled to the summit of the highest skyscraper with culture and history.

I watched my reflection in the fancy buildings walk alongside me as I strolled the downtown streets. There was almost too much to look at; it was such a contrast to where I live now. The hurried pace of always having to be somewhere whisked me off my feet.

 

The City

I traveled down into the city for a couple days and things were different.

I took the train into downtown and I looked around and everyone’s lips were pursed into a straight line.

I walked along the shops and saw at least five homeless people in one block.

The hustle and bustle of the cars, buses, trains, and people were all too much.

It was draining to see all those people with miserable expressions on their faces.

I have come to realize that work and money consume everything it comes close to.

When jobs and work and money and everything in between start to devour someone’s time is when I believe it is too much. Life isn’t made to make a gazillion dollars. Life is for love and adventure and finding out why you were put on this earth. It is for gazing at the stars and breathing in the cold air. Life is for you and only you and you only get once chance. It is your one sole duty to live it fully.

rough patch

“I am too young to be this sad,” a breath of exhaustion fogs up the mirror as I tell myself this. I get up and leave the bathroom’s quiet confinement and take on the rest of the day.

Sometimes, it is all about perseverance.

We all go through rough patches and sometimes all you need is a little endurance to see the light at the end.