I feel on edge but in control. My dance class is flying by but I have a devil on my shoulder trying to pull me down. Down to a lower level only my sister has seen. The level I’m at when I’m alone sobbing in my car, or shaking motionlessly in my room. Shit. It’s coming again.
Never before have I shown ‘weakness’ to the outside world. In fact I am portrayed as that composed yet slightly ditzy girl. No one knows when I’m sad or when I’m about to break down, yet I do.
I can feel it, but I’m trapped. Trapped in my own fictional reality, my fake life. The person whom I want people to see to avoid the truth. I’m lonely and isolated in my body. It does things I do not wish. The past haunts it; makes my body rattle in rage. So much for being in control of my life.
Get out. GET OUT! I’m screaming at myself to escape this situation. Hysteria is building up inside me whilst nausea fills my stomach in waves. ‘For god’s sake’ my rationality is saying.
I’m now trying to ride it out in the outside breeze.
What on earth is my body doing to me?
Now huddled in a ball on the ground things are calming. My shaking is subsiding and breath steadying. I still can’t feel my arms or face. A dull tingling sensation is all that links me with reality.
A stampede of people gush through the door as once more I’m paralyzed and screaming. What for? I cannot say. This time it’s worse. People coming up to me, wondering what the hell I’m doing. Only know they realise I’ve been missing for a good part of an hour.
My hands have now been paralyzed into a cramped first. I thought this was meant to be a ‘fight or flight’ reaction. I don’t seem to be doing much. Shaking – yes, crying – yes, looking crazy – yes. Why couldn’t my body have chosen to fly? Fly out of this situation and into a new one. Instead everything is stuck inside of me. Embarrassment, panic, sadness, shame; my body is full of it. GET ME OUT!!
I’m now only petrified of humiliating myself again and I’m ridden with guilt for my double standards. I see others having panic attacks and only see the strength they have to get through them. I’m still ashamed. I’m ashamed of people stereotyping me, thinking I’m incapable, and forcing me to be that vulnerable deer in the headlights. I won’t be that deer, but what else can I do?