Abditory [H.S]

53

TW: panic attack and violence.

Now, lets get started.

Harry Styles

Ten hours earlier; 10am.

I run a hand through my hair for the third time for the past minute, gripping my bathroom counter harsher my knuckles turn white, my breathing getting louder with every second passing.

Can you die out of a panic attack? It sure feels like it.

"Goddamn it, just stop." I mutter, gritting my white teeth they feel like they'll break. My eyelids pinch themselves, a whirlwind of thought going through my head.

My throat goes tight as I feel like throwing up again, my kidneys hurting from the amount of shit they went through ten minutes ago. I grip the counter with my other hand as I can't hold myself up any longer with one, throwing my head down.

The wave of inner helplessness was washing over me over and over again, running through my body while my hair on my arms stood up. I suddenly felt cold, my lungs on the inside flaring up at the same time I wanted a blanket of warmth to cover my shoulders. I became so aware of my surroundings, the light was blinding my eyes now, giving me a headache; my forehead was throbbing. The air around me became unbreathable. The sound of my heavy breaths suddenly irritated my eardrums, and the taste of my previous puke was beginning to come back to my earbuds.

I needed to breathe.

My hands began to shake as I gripped them tighter and tighter my bones were getting crushed by the marble underneath them. My legs trembling as they couldn't hold my body up anymore while my body begged to crumble in its own at a corner.

Breathe- the word became unrecognizable to me. My nose clogged up and my mouth was closed shut as I tried to breathe. The oxygen getting robbed from my lungs at the same time the air began to lack it.

I eventually let go of the poor counter, fluttering my eyes open to turn around and grab the door handle, swinging my bathroom door open as the cold air of my bedroom hit my face, gasping for air like I was under water for minutes.

My legs stumble down the stairs as I try to escape my thoughts, running to the kitchen like my body was on fire- it indeed felt like it.

I promised myself I wouldn't do it. I promised to not drown away those recurring, intrusive thoughts filled with incurable anxiety by drinking. It seemed to me like I had no other choice.

Cabinet by another, I opened and shut their doors loudly, searching for anything to help me breathe again.

I told Kingston to throw away every drip of alcohol found in my house, but now I regret that decision; knowing I need it to survive this unstoppable pain running through my mind.

My fridge was fully opened, searching for anything, a beer would help, something to drown my thoughts away.

Nothing was found as I flew the fridge door back closed, the sound hurting my eardrums even more as my pants increase.

Alcohol, I need alcohol.

I open the kitchen drawers, finding my flasks empty, filled with air that was hard to find at a time like this for me, dust growing in them.

"Fuck!" I yell out, running through the kitchen like a crazy person would.

I roll onto my knees in surrender, giving up on finding my cure. My hands were pressed flat against the rugged floor, itching their way on my skin. I felt like crying from how miserable I felt. My mind was clouded with images I tend to push back at night, sounds of my pants growing as I relive the pain again.