Levels of Stress

Level Eight

My body began to shake and quiver. If someone would've looked at me and not known about my panic disorder, they might've guessed I was freezing. I wasn't.

Beads of sweat began to roll down my face and a fear started growing in my chest. It forced pressure in my weak lungs. Every breath I drew in and pushed out was a tremendous act of heroism towards myself. It was a surprise I was still conscious.

The normal pins and needles feeling was replaced with knives and swords twisting continuously in my gut. I was numb to everything but the pain that my head was busy concentrating on.

The room got smaller and darker and started to spin. My knees wobbled weakly and I felt my legs start to give out from under me. My head throbbed in unison to my racing heartbeat.

I remembered back to the day I explained how depression felt to that girl. I was exactly right. I was drowning, and all I needed to do was breath or stand up, but I was too weak to try to save myself.

I almost passed out, but grabbed the edge of the counter, holding myself up. The figure that stared back at me as I looked in the mirror was one I wasn't familiar to. There were tears streaming down the boy's extremely pale, bony face.

A noise I could only compare to a sob escaped from my throat and echoed against the walls. I backed into the door and slid to the ground, holding my knees in to my chest as I rocked back and forth. All efforts to hold my sobs back were released in a minute, tops. I was a mess.

***

When I woke up, I wasn't in the bathroom. I wasn't curled up by the door, wishing my dumb head would shut up. It was quiet. Everything was quiet. I found myself lying in my bed again, an ice pack wrapped in cloth on my forehead and the covers of my bed pulled up to my armpits.

My shaky hand came into view to push the cold pack from my head, but was taken away before I could get there.

"Sorry," a comforting, more familiar voice said nervously. I knew it could only be one person.

Skye placed a half smile across her face and blushed while looking at me.

"Skye?" my voice cracked. I never expected her to be the one helping me. She had similar panic attacks to mine, so I often times texted her out of them. Now, she was the one mothering me.

Tears formed in her eyes and she looked down, "I-I just came to see how you were doing and... I saw you passed out on the floor. I couldn't...just leave you."

"Skye..." I sighed and whined her name. It took a lot out of me, but was worth it to wrap my arms around her.

I wasn't one to hug. It wasn't a very manly thing to do, even if it was to a girl friend. This was different. Skye needed me and I needed Skye. She took care of me when nobody else would and I'm in debt to her.

"I told you to tell me if something was wrong," she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and looked up at me.

I scooted over and made room for her to sit on my bed. She sat upright and nervously looked down to her fingers for comfort.

"I'm sorry... I just haven't been myself lately and I didn't want to scare you away with problems I might've been able to handle myself," I explained.

She shook her head, "I'm more worried about scaring you away. You've dealt with so many of my problems and you've still stuck close to me."

It was my turn to look down. My cheeks turned red with embarrassment. I could've easily avoided that panic attack by simply talking to somebody.

"Sweetheart, you look as sick as a dog," she frowned.

It suddenly dawned on me that I was sick. The pain started coming back in pieces: the heaviness in my lungs, the ache in my stomach, and the throbbing of my head. It happened so fast, I sat up to find a the garbage can to vomit into. Dark black, blue, and purple specks clouded my vision and made me dizzy.

"Whoa," she held my shoulders and gently pulled me back down to the bed, "Easy there tiger."

I pinched the bridge of my nose and winced as my body woke up from it's numbed sleep. It was good while it lasted.

"I'm really sorry you had to go through this," Skye told me.

"It's..." I had hoped to say fine, but I can't lie to myself anymore, even she knows I'm not fine. It hit me harder than I thought and almost fueled me into another panic attack. Not this time.

"Skye..." I groaned before rolling over and throwing up whatever was left in my stomach. So much for feeling the least bit better.

She graciously held the bucket in front of me, pushing messy hair out of my eyes. Her palm stopped on my forehead and strangely comforted my head back against the pillow.

"Skye," I repeated with a new meaning, but with the same amount of effort.

She held the bucket back up questioningly. I chuckled a bit and shook my head, "No. You're probably the best big sister."

Skye laughed while cleaning up my mess, "No I'm not."

"Yes you are. What you just did proves it," I smirked.

She blushed and heaved a surrendering sigh, "Fine."

We sat in my room for the rest of the night, watching shows and listening to music to keep the mood up. Naturally, she continued to mother me and attend to my every need.

As I grew more tired, I felt myself grow heavier. I couldn't lift my arms anymore or reach over to text someone. I felt as if I was sinking into my bed, but realized I was actually falling asleep. I hadn't slept in days.

I had always thought Skye as a friend, but not like my others. Tonight had completely spun me around. I realized you don't need to be friends to care about someone, and when you show care for someone, they will instantly become your friend.

Level Eight: Anxious/Panicky Stress