As I write these words, I am having a panic attack. I was drinking tea, eating brownies and talking about life with my family just seconds ago but now, I am writing this in the Notes app on my iPhone to distract me.
And I'm wondering if anyone in the room noticed how I stopped talking, and how I haven't spoken a word in minutes. I'm wondering if any of them can hear the loud pounding hitting my chest and the worrying thoughts in my head.
My hands are shaking, but I try to type as fast as so they think it's because my fingers are dancing through the little keyboard. I cannot breathe, the world is spinning too quickly, I think I'm dying. Sitting here in this chair, I'm terrified that my time has come, and I have nowhere to run.
My legs need to move, but I'm afraid that once they do, I will hit the ground like a spilled glass of water on the hardwood floor. I'm choking on every breath I take, on every word I'm tempted to speak but I don't dare to say in case the brokenness of my voice gives me away. The lights appear to blind me, and the music is not loud enough to cover the deafening beating in my chest. And it's beating even faster now, am I going to die?
I don't answer my question.
Instead, I make my way to the bathroom, but I don't lock the door, in case I do die, and someone comes to find me and face my lifeless body lying on the ground, all curled up into a ball.
Do you recognize that feeling in your gut when you are walking the stairs, and you unexpectedly miss a step? It feels like your stomach twists in a complicated knot, and your heart skips a beat, but it lasts only a microsecond until your brain quickly reminds you that you are safe. You could have been in danger, but you are not now.
That's how I'm feeling, except my brain is not reassuring me I'm not in a threatening situation; my mind is kindly letting me know I am in a very dangerous place right now.
My body starts to shake, and I try to stop it because a part of me knows I have been here before. I know it's because I'm worried about the future, about the money I'm no making, about goals I'm not accomplishing.
I sit on the floor; it makes me feel safe to have my knees so near my chest as I clench my fists so tight the nails engrave my skin. This is it. I shut my eyes so hard it makes my face hurt. This is it. I can no longer feel my legs. This is it. My tongue feels numb inside my mouth. This is it. I'm not sure if I'm still breathing anymore. This is it. I can't hear anything from the other room. This is it. I can't even feel the sound of my heart pounding anymore.
This. Is. It.
The cooldown is finally here.
I can feel the air entering my lungs, and it feels just as tender as a warm hug in the middle of a cold winter night. The burning sensation in my stomach is making an appearance as if I had overeaten and I started jumping up and down right afterward. My muscles feel exhausted, but not the kind of tired that could easily be fixed with a nap. No, I need several naps.
I'm a crumbled piece of paper.
But I get up. I wash my face, and I take a good look in the mirror. There are bags under my eyes that weren't there just minutes earlier; my cheeks are tinted in slight red, and there's water threatening to shed from my eyes. But if I look closely and deeply, there's a proud smile appearing on my face. A friendly reminder that I'm still here. I'm safe.
And everything is going to be okay.