Seventeen
I will never forget my first anxiety attack. It was four months and three days after Jessie died.
At first, I thought it was just a bad headache—pressure building behind my eyes, and a rhythmic pulsating against my temple. Then my heart started racing, each beat slamming against my rib cage.
My chest tightened as if a straitjacket constrained me.
I thought I was dying.
I found myself curled into the fetal position, lying in the corner of my old bedroom. The ceiling began to swirl as darkness encroached on my vision. I couldn’t muster a full breath.
Looking back, it should’ve been obvious.
All the signs were there, but I was too na?ve to see them clearly.
After that day, anxiety swirled inside me, clawing at even the most obscure parts of my brain, wreaking havoc on my mind until it was all I knew.
For the next month, I had at least one attack every week.
Unsurprisingly, they all corresponded with a different type of social interaction, but at their core, they were all the same—my mom asking me about my day, a strange man telling me to smile, a group of girls whispering as I walked past them, my eyes locking with someone I didn’t know, and even a kid in the grade below me asking why I had a boy’s name.
I didn’t want my parents to worry, so I consulted Dr. Google and self-diagnosed myself with an allergy to human interaction.
The cure? Faking it and pretending like everything was fine became my EpiPen.
So, I molded myself like clay, transforming into a picture-perfect plastic Barbie doll—blonde hair, pink lipstick, unoriginal thoughts, and predetermined words—until, eventually, I could hardly recognize myself anymore.
Conversations were easier when people believed you were one of them.
It also made it harder for them to bully you.
Unless you let the mold break.
And mine was. But you know how Barbie dolls are—once they’re sealed in their little plastic boxes, breaking free becomes nearly impossible.
So, I reinforced the plastic ties binding my arms to the cardboard box I was stuffed in as I plastered a smile on my face and walked through the lunchroom, refusing to let anyone’s stares intimidate me.
My arms strategically balanced a three-tier stack of homemade vanilla cupcakes perched on a silver tray.
Each clique remained isolated at its own table, the only thing bridging the groups was the occasional exchange of glances.
Meredith’s glare penetrated the barrier the hardest as she bore a hole into the side of Andrew’s skull.
Most of the cheerleaders warmed up to him pretty quickly, but not Meredith.
She went out of her way to avoid him, and he did the same.
His neck snapped like a whip, their eyes connecting as he shot her a devious smirk.
“How’s it goin’?”
Elliot’s voice startled me, the cupcakes teetering on the tray as I scurried to find my footing. I huffed while looking up at him. “Jesus, Abercrombie.”
“I’ll take one of those.” He reached his arm out, his fingers grasping nothing as I pulled back the tray.
“Does that mean I can count on your vote?” I raised my eyebrow at him.
“Of course.” He leaned in close to my ear. I could feel the heat from his breath as he whispered, “Princess.”
My cheeks flushed.
Elliot snagged a cupcake from the top of the stack, curling his lips as he took his finger, swiping off a bit of icing. His eyelids fluttered closed as he brought the frosting into his lips, sucking it clean with an audible pop.
My knees buckled slightly. I shifted my weight, trying to mask my unsteady gait.
“Thanks for the cupcake, girlfriend .” He winked as he shoved the rest of the cupcake in his mouth and walked away.
Jesus Christ. No, not even he could help me right now.
I exhaled through my nose, my smile springing back into place.
Suddenly, I was thrust back into a crowd of phony personalities and shallow conversations, forcing myself to mingle with people I otherwise would avoid.
I paraded around the lunchroom as nothing more than a faceless mannequin resembling only what each person wanted to see.
It was exhausting, but at this point, I was used to it.
Conversation after conversation, my laughter came out mechanical, and my words disingenuous.
“Vote for Clarke Taylor for Prom Queen!”
A sharp, ear-splitting howl broke through the air, the forced cackle grating against my ears. Whipping around, I caught Meredith covering her mouth as Mason muttered something to her. Kendra’s eyes narrowed at the two of them before she snatched her tray and strode away from the table.
I stiffened, my smile wavering. Was she laughing at me? A dull ache settled in my chest. Forcing my feet to cooperate, I approached her table, masking my uncertainty with a polished grin.
She was still giggling, her attention directed at Mason until I cleared my throat.
“Cupcake?” I asked, dropping the tray on the table with a metallic clank.
Slowly prying her gaze away from her Mason, she squinted at me. I swallowed forcefully, hoping my vocal cords wouldn’t betray me as my windpipe constricted.
“Is it your birthday or something?”
“It’s for Prom.”
“It’s February.”
“So?”
“Seems a little desperate.”
I shook my head. “Just determined.”
“Sure, then. I’ll take one.” Her shoulders lifted with a slight bounce, sending her hair cascading down her arms. “Actually, I’ll take like…four.”
Before I could react, she scooped up the cupcakes with a mischievous grin and sprang from her seat, brushing past me in a blur.
The rush of her movement sent a cool breeze over my skin, making the hairs on the back of my neck prickle.
When my eyes finally caught up with her, she was standing beside a large trash can, dropping the cupcakes in, one by one.
I don’t know what I was expecting to happen, but that definitely wasn’t it.
My feet were welded to the floor.
A wave of laughter flooded my ears. If it was two people or two hundred people, I couldn’t tell.
My face swelled with blood, the heat incinerating my body and suffocating me in a blanket of fire.
I didn’t know what to say. I let out a shaky breath while raking my fingers through my hair.
Meredith had never bullied anyone, at least not that I was aware of…
so why was she doing this to me? Was she jealous?
No. No way she would be jealous of me. She made me who I am .
My thoughts stuttered as my eyes shifted around haphazardly. The only word I could muster was—
“ Wh-why ?”
“Can’t support my competition,” she said with a playful giggle, flicking the frosting off her hands. “Duh.”
Four years of friendship down the drain , but it didn’t truly sink in until she did what she had just done.
I pursed my lips, staring down at my shoes.
Tears pricked at my eyes as my breathing hitched.
My vision became fuzzy. I bit my cheek hard enough to draw blood as I spun on my heels.
Without another word, I started to walk away, leaving my cupcakes abandoned on the table.
“Hey, Clarke,” Mason called out. “Ryan is out today, but he told me to tell you his biggest regret is dating you.”
Ignoring him, I dug my hands into my pockets, continuing out of the lunchroom. My feet gathered speed as my vision tunneled, closing in at the edges, making the hallway seem longer as I plowed into the nearest bathroom.
Beads of sweat pooled on the surface of my skin, leaving behind an oily residue on my hands.
I hastily opened the door to each stall, making sure I was completely alone, before slamming the heel of my palm against the final door and clicking the lock.
My pulse pounded in my ears, creating a stutter that caused my head to swim.
I braced myself against the walls as I sucked in air profusely, desperately trying to steady my breathing.
Thoughts tumbled through my head, too fast for my mind to catch.
Not an anxiety attack. Not now.
Tears streamed down my face as my lips trembled, my hands clutching the fabric around my neck, tugging it away as if it were suffocating me.
My chest heaved, rising and falling with uneven bursts.
Suddenly, I was thirteen again, caught in the crosshairs of cruel words.
I clasped my fingers over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut.
I was spiraling, lost in a free fall with nothing below me to cushion the impact.
The light at the end of the tunnel wasn’t salvation—it was a semi-truck barreling straight toward me.
The hinges on the bathroom door squeaked, followed by a soft thud of footsteps drawing closer.
My eyes flew open. I stifled my sobs, but my breathing still came out ragged.
“Princess, you in there?”
“El…” A gasp escaped my lips. “Elliot?”
I clawed at the sides of the stall with my nails.
“You okay in there?”
“I…I-I can’t.” My brain was on fire. “I can’t.”
“I’m coming in.” Elliot’s head popped out from underneath the stall door as he tucked his body, pushing himself through the opening. “Hey.” He stared at me, the lines on his forehead evident as his brows drew together. “Hey. It’s okay, Clarke.”
“No.” I heaved. “No…I just need…I can’t.”
“Just close your eyes and listen to my voice.”
With no strength to reply, I simply nodded.
“Concentrate on staying grounded. Start with your toes. Wiggle each one. Then, stretch your legs. Take a deep breath, as deep as you can, and hold it for five seconds. Exhale completely. Use your hand to feel the vibration of your heartbeat in your chest.”