Before you go... //h.s

Clueless

^^mental health warning

It's light outside, despite the hour that suggests the dark should have fallen. I guess that's just how early August days were: the light lasting for hours until the darkness finally took over.

I, however, was not enjoying the balmy August evening. I was bundled in one of Harry's sweatshirts that he'd slipped into my case without me knowing. It was my favourite jumper to wear: baggy, oversized and so, so comfy. The cuffs of his sweatshirt dangled over my hands, covering them and the sweatshirt came halfway down my thighs, almost acting as a dress. It had lost his smell because I'd worn it so much, but it was still undeniably his. I loved that he'd wanted me to wear his clothing, that he'd chosen to slip a jumper into my suitcase because he wanted me to have it.

So as I curled under my covers, wrapped in Harry's sweatshirt, I picked at my already bitten nails and watched clueless for the millionth time.

It wasn't as old as a lot of the films I watched, but it was still released last century and I loved it. Alicia Silverstone, Paul Rudd...it was just an entertaining film that wasn't hard to follow. It was one of the films I would recommend to anyone who would listen if they just wanted some light hearted entertainment to keep their mind off whatever it was that was bothering them. 

In my case, it was the hate. Despite having not seen Harry for a couple of weeks and so obviously no new photos of us had been released, the hate continued to rush in. Every morning I woke up to new comments on my Instagram criticizing me, sending me death threats and even being horrible to Harry for just being seen with me.

I'd seen so many of these comments that I'd almost begun to believe them. I wasn't good enough for Harry. I was an embarrassment. I was an ugly bitch.

Like I've said before, the stress and pressure that these comments put me under was causing my constant my mental issues to heighten, to worsen, to become constantly at the forefront of my mind.

I could hear the noise outside. The yellow taxis honking their horns as their desperately ferried their passengers to destinations. The impatient people on their way home from work. The general bustle that was constantly around in New York.

I could hear noise inside. Alicia Silverstone speaking. Stanley blowing bubbles. Maya clattering as she made a drink.

Normally silent noises amplified, becoming louder and louder until the pounding in my head became a clusterfuck of noises that I couldn't distinguish from each other. Our small apartment that usually seemed cosy became cage like, no room to move and no air to breath.

My heartbeat began pounding erratically and my palms became sweaty as I desperately tried to focus on something, on anything. But my brain couldn't concentrate as I tore at my duvet that was trapping me in.

Get out your room in 10 seconds. Do it or Harry will die. Now.

I finally got the fucking trapping duvet off me and jumped off my mattress sprinting to my door desperately reaching for the handle as my mind counted down the seconds. My breathing was frantic as I yanked the door open and ran into our living room.

Maya turned to see my flushed cheeks and panicked expression. Of course she immediately knew what was happening and she walked over to me and wrapped me in a comforting hug as she rocked me slightly like a young child.

I'd never told her how much I appreciated her for little things like this.

My breathing remained frantic for a while as I tried to push the aftermath of my thought out of my mind. I hated it because I knew that it was just my mind yet I couldn't stop from believing it. And they were becoming more and more regular – a couple of times a day usually now.