Chapter 13 #2
He adjusted his helmet and kept right on mowing people down, as if the fall had reset his aim. He was relentless when it mattered and ridiculous between moments. It made the whole stream a lot of fun, and I was already planning on watching his next.
Sometime later, while he was still going strong, winning every new round he started, I fell asleep.
I woke up hours later, the TV off and the apartment so quiet it was deafening.
My head felt light and a little dizzy, and the moment I tried to sit up, my heart took off like I had been running even though I hadn’t moved, my mouth went dry, and my hands started tingling.
Something was wrong even though nothing in the room had changed.
My awareness of my surroundings was strong, yet I felt like a ghost, unable to feel anything.
I started to name things around me to help my brain understand that everything was still the same.
The couch, the blanket, the coffee table, the remote on the armrest. But listing them didn’t steady anything.
My chest tightened anyway, and the air stuck halfway down and refused to move, and a strip of heat ran up my neck that made me feel cornered in my own home.
I stood too fast, and the room slid sideways.
I sat back down and waited for the floor to stop tilting, and when I finally managed to stand up, I dragged my feet down the hall to check the door even though I knew I had locked it.
I checked the windows, then the stove knobs one by one.
I opened the bathroom door and flicked the light on and off because the brightness felt wrong, but none of it helped, because the band around my ribs kept tightening, and my hands went hot and cold at the same time.
I told myself that everything would be okay, and it was just a panic attack, and that I had lived through them before.
I said it out loud to make it true, and saying it didn’t fix anything, my heart pounded harder, my vision narrowed at the edges until the room felt far away, and I could not tell if my feet were on the ground or if I was floating.
I thought I might still be asleep, but I became more aware of my state and decided I was wide awake.
I stood in the kitchen and tried to breathe the way I had taught myself.
Breathe in for four, hold for seven, out for eight.
I tried, but the first breath snagged and made my throat burn, the second came out like a gasp, and on the third, I started counting too fast and gulping air, which made the tingling shoot up my forearms into my elbows until my fingers felt like they belonged to someone else.
I pressed my palms to my sternum like I could manually make the breathing easier, but my hands shook, and the pressure only made things worse.
I hated that my body didn’t listen to me when I needed it the most, and I hated that I needed proof I was safe in a place I had chosen, and I hated that I knew exactly why this was happening.
Memories rolled in whether I wanted them or not.
The way I learned to walk on the sides of the hallway runner because the floorboards squeaked in the middle.
The way I learned to read the weight of footsteps long before I saw a shadow in a doorway.
The way my stomach dropped at the harsh sound of keys being thrown into that little glass tray in the entryway, and how I knew it meant a mood I could not predict.
The way I kept a backup plan for dinner in case what I cooked wasn’t good enough.
The way I hid bruises with long sleeves in July so I wouldn't be questioned about them. The way I smiled when I felt nothing because not smiling could start a fight, and smiling could start one too, and the rules changed mid-sentence. The way I rarely touched my phone in his presence because it could be mistaken for texting someone else, and jealousy quickly turned into anger. The way my job was “not real work” until money was needed, and then it was my fault there wasn’t enough.
The way I learned to apologize for the air I took up, for the noise the chair made when I stood, for the way the faucet dripped in the middle of the night, for the way my voice sounded when I said I was tired.
I had trained myself to be small, quiet, and useful.
I had trained myself to guess wrong, then guess again, until there was nothing left to guess.
The crying started without warning, just tears that wouldn’t stop, and then a sound that felt like it had been waiting for months.
I slid down the cabinet to the kitchen floor because my knees gave out.
The tile was cold through my sweats, and even that didn’t feel like enough to pull me back into my skin.
I tried the grounding list I had read about in a book one time: Five things I could see, four I could touch, three I could hear.
I said the words and lost them and said them again and still felt the numbness creep into my cheeks and my hands until I could only see my fingers and not feel them.
I thought about the nights I slept with one ear open because any movement could mean a door, and a door could mean a test I would fail no matter how I answered.
I thought about the mornings I made coffee with hands that already shook because I was behind on a rule I hadn’t been given.
I thought about how long I stayed and how hard it was to leave when leaving was the first choice you were allowed to make for yourself.
I crawled to the bathroom because a smaller room might help.
I turned on the fan just to have a sound that wasn’t my heart, and I sat on the floor with my back against the tub and my knees up and tried to breathe slowly again, but my hands cramped, my fingers curled and wouldn’t uncoil.
My face went numb around my mouth, and I touched my cheeks, but they didn’t feel like mine.
I talked to myself, but my voice sounded like it came from down the hall.
I wanted to call someone, but the question of who to call made me freeze, because the list of people who would understand was empty.
I thought about the times I stood in the shower just to muffle the sound of crying, but if I stood there for too long, I would get shouted at for using up all the hot water.
The panic kept coming in waves. I tried to stand, and my legs shook, forcing me back down.
I pressed my head against the side of the tub because it was cool, flat, and solid, and I needed something that didn’t move.
Something that wouldn’t hurt me if I cried too loud.
A voice in my head told me I was being dramatic and I should stop.
Another voice told me I was in danger even though there was no one here but me.
I hated both voices. I wanted quiet and got noise.
The next wave hit harder. The band around my chest climbed into my throat and squeezed until the edges of my vision went grey, the ringing in my ears turned to static, my body felt heavy, my fingers stopped tingling and turned to stone, my arms followed, my cheeks moved from numb to hot to nothing, and I could not tell if I was upright or on my side.
I said please to an empty room because I didn’t know what else to say. Another sob ripped through and left me shaking. My breath stuttered and lost rhythm. Heat rushed from my stomach to my face, and I knew I was going to pass out. So I let go, and everything went black.