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“It would freak me out so much that I, uh, I think I got my first panic attack when I was at the grocery store. Someone saw me and recognized me and started talking to me. And I just couldn’t deal with it. I ran out of there and I couldn’t breathe. I felt like someone was sitting on my chest and my stomach was churning and… yeah, it was awful. But then it happened again and again until I couldn’t get out of the house. Until I only felt safe in my room or when I went out at night.
“And one night, I was sitting up on the roof and I was drinking because Fiona called me to brag about her and Brian. So I went up to the roof, and I was sitting there and I saw someone on the street. And then, that someone saw me. They saw me up there and they started walking toward the house and I lost it. I don’t even know what they wanted but I got so scared anyway. And I didn’t wanna come down from the roof but I had to. I-I had to because someone was there and they were walking toward me and I was so angry at people for not leaving me alone. It was my time, you know. It was my time to be out in the world and watch the moon and write in my journal but I couldn’t even do that. So I got into my car because I wanted to drive away from there. I got so tired of everything that I wanted to get out of that town. But a few miles down, I skidded off the road and I was going to hit this tree but I didn’t.”
Finally, I stop to take a breath. I stop to tell myself that it’s over. Or at least, it’s almost over. So it’s more or less a breath of relief.
Although, I’m not out of the woods yet.
Because he hasn’t said a word.
He hasn’t changed his expression either. He’s doing what he was doing the second he turned around and saw me: staring.
He’s staring at me but then again, his fists weren’t clenched when we started this.
They are now.
They look even more ferocious than mine. My puny ones that I’m using to take apart his shirt.
I’m not sure what they mean, his fists. If it’s good news or if he’s beginning to think that I’m so weak and pathetic that just because someone was walking toward me, I freaked out like that and almost rammed my car into a tree.
But I stare at those fists and continue, “They took me to a hospital. Sent me for a psych eval and everything. Then, they gave me the option of going to this facility so I could have a structured environment and I took it. Mostly because I wanted to get away. So basically, I’ve been lying to you. I’ve been lying to you about everything. There’s no… There’s no college. There’s no vacation. There’s nothing. I’m not sure if I’m even going to college. Because people still scare me.”
I crawl the toes of my right foot up the calf of my left, feeling exposed and self-conscious and suddenly so shy in front of him. Something that I’ve never felt before and I hate this feeling.
He’s the one person I never wanted to hide from or lie to and I hate that I have done both.
“What happened with Richard? That was kind of a mini-panic attack. I can’t look people in the eyes and I can’t talk to them because I’m scared. It makes me anxious. I have these things, my therapist, Nelson, calls them crutches. Cap and sunglasses. I wear them when I go out. Which isn’t a lot. I don’t go out a lot. I mostly just stay home. I order things online and I talk to people through notes.”
At this, I have to laugh a little. Billy, my pen pal.
“I do all those things because I don’t like being here. In the world. I was fine on the Inside, at Heartstone, but I’m… kind of struggling on the Outside. At Heartstone, everyone was like me. Everyone had problems and no one looked at me like I was different. But then, I got out and I realized everything was still the same. The people in my town, their judgment and gossip and all of that. They still thought that I was a slut and they still called you names and all the rumors were still alive. So it was just easier to stay home and lock myself up in my room rather than going out and facing my problems. Facing the loud world and all those people. It was easier to just pretend that it was okay for me to use a crutch and never talk to anybody other than a few people I met at Heartstone. It is easier to pretend that I’m fine than dealing with the real problem: my doomsday brain. Anxiety is so exhausting, you know and I just didn’t wanna be tired anymore. I guess, I was just weak. I liked taking the easy way out. But if you really think about it, I’ve always been weak, right? Shy and hiding away from the world and being busy with books and music and all that. So it makes sense that I’d be weak now, in the face of my illness.
