Fear is all around us

I Can't Breath

I never know when it will hit me, but it is the scariest experience I ever go through. The feeling is akin to a giant rock suddenly falling on top of me, and I am completely helpless, unable to move, or even speak. I want to cry out and scream for help, but it's like my lips have been sealed shut with glue. The only movement I'm allotted is with my eyes, as they dart around the room, looking for whoever is holding me down, or what.

But the worst of it is, for the first few moments, I can't breathe.

I have had episodes like this on and off again for as far back as my early teenage years. Part of me even believes I used to have them when I was younger, but my developing mind simply blocked out those times they occurred so as not to cause me traumatic damage as I grew older. Either way, they still give me trouble to this day, even at twenty-six years of age.

Don't get me wrong. It's not like this happens every night, or once a week, or even once a month. In any given year, I can count on one hand the number of times I have this living nightmare. They happen so rarely, in fact, that I often go weeks without even thinking about it. Only when it does happen to me am I stuck for weeks at a time, worried that I'll lock up in my sleep again.

Or have another instance that had occurred two years ago, which I consider to be the scariest night of my life. That night, I wasn't sure if I was simply having an episode, or if someone, or something, was trying to kill me.
About two years ago, I found myself in a sort of limbo when it came to any sense of direction I wanted to go in my life. I had dropped out of college that spring, unsure of whether I wanted to return to finish my degree or not. I had just started a new job after walking away from a company I had poured three and a half years of my life into, so I was on shaky ground as I attempted to prove my worth. On top of that, my boyfriend and I had just broken up with each other, but we had chosen to remain as friends and roommates. Those first few weeks of sleeping in a bed alone were some of the most depressing nights of my life.

Shortly after I had moved out of sharing a room with my ex and into my own room in the house, I had an episode that startled me awake at exactly 2:47 AM. I knew this because when my eyes shot open, the alarm clock that I set up across the room so I had to get out of bed to turn it off shone brightly the time in bright-red LED light. Once again, I was unable to move, speak, or breathe. It only lasted for about fifteen to twenty seconds, on the short end of the spectrum compared to ones I've had before. This one was terrifying to me, however, because I hadn't had an occurrence like this alone for quite some time.

I never told my ex-boyfriend about what I went through since it happened very rarely, while he was dead asleep at night. And since I'm unable to speak or move when it occurs, there would be no point in giving him ways to tell if I was having a spell or not. It was something I internally went through when they happened, but having someone else in bed with me gave me a sense of comfort when the attacks struck. Now, alone in a futon with nothing but an alarm clock to keep me company, I suddenly felt the weight of loneliness drop on top of me, weighing me down much like the psychological rock crushing me that night.

I had decided the next day to seek help from my doctor. I had signed up for insurance through my employer, and part of the benefits included free diagnostic checks. I scheduled an appointment and saw him later that afternoon after I clocked out from work.

We went through the usual steps, from checking my tongue to hearing my heart beat. Once everything was said and done, he wrapped his stethoscope around his neck and asked if there was anything I wished to discuss with him. Normally, there was never anything I needed to discuss at all. I was a young man in excellent health, save for me being overweight. This time, however, I nodded, and the doctor gave a concerned look.

I went into detail of everything I go through when the attacks strike, from feeling like tons of weight has been dropped onto me to the inability to breathe when it first flares up. Once I finished, he nodded, tapping his pen against his clipboard as he set it aside. He clasped his hands together and looked at me with understanding and a tinge of concern.