I shut the door behind me and leaned against it. I tried not to make any noise which was hard considering the fact that it was quickly becoming extremely difficult to breathe normally. I turned the fan on and then the shower to make some noise, but soon I was gasping for air.

This couldn’t be happening. My mind, reeling, flashed back to three years earlier. The situations, the reasons for panic were so similar it astounded me. This wasn’t as serious. That’s what I kept trying to tell myself. But logic had no way of reaching me here. I tried to hold myself up with the wall, but my efforts were futile. My knees soon met the cold tile of the bathroom floor.

This is how it started last time. My mind again took me to three years ago. I remembered it clearly. The thin carpet under me as I grasped at anything. My entire body had been in so much pain. That panic attack had been the worst I had ever had.

This wasn’t as bad, I again told myself. I coaxed myself into breathing normally again. I would be okay. Everything would be fine.

But what if it wasn’t? Simple tasks became hard. My hands were trembling and I couldn’t think straight. I lost my breath again.

It went on like this for a while, alternating between breathing and forgetting how to. Because the reality is that it might not be fine. The reality is that something, so many things, could go horribly wrong. I’m not a control freak. But sitting by helpless is one of the most terrifying feelings in the world.



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