The Art of Learning to Breathe

O n e

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'I think there's a flaw in my code.
These voices won't leave me alone. Well my heart is gold and my hands are cold."

The clock placed on the wall ahead of me ticks like a timer you would see on a bomb which is about to explode. I can't stop it, reverse it, slow it down or even just turn it off. I can't do anything but sit and listen to it as it ticks inside of my ears. I can do no more than avoid it than the beating of my own heart as it pounds with impotence against the vigorous cage of bones and cartilage hidden beneath my scarred skin. The dread inside me reminds me of an invisible demon sitting calmly on my shoulders waiting for me to chicken out and leave as I always do. The demon's laugh swims and crashes in my mind like waves on a stormy ocean.

I hold my head in hope to stop the obnoxious sounds from echoing in my mind like a broken CD which is only playing on repeat. It stops. I let go. I hear something, something else, I hear him sharpening the knives. I sweat and become pale, the trembling in my hands begins once again signalising that my body is rejecting the idea to calm itself down. It can't. It won't. The beating of my palpitating heart accelerates and the sound rises to a clamour as if a herd of animals escaped a zoo.

My stomach feels as if it was being turned inside out or like I was having one of those deathly period cramps, I'm not. It's nerves. So many nerves. A zoo of nerves. All I can do is wait on the plastic chair for my name to be called and my anxiety to hit the rooftop.

It's been a month or two since I dropped out of college. Let's just say I wasn't made to be a college student. In fact, I wasn't made to be any type of student, friend, girlfriend and anything in between. I was made to be a wreck, a complete and utter mess. Physically, a mess. Socially, a bigger mess. Mentally, oh god, a wreck would be a far much better word to describe it.

The two months I attended college were laughable, not in a good way either. My friend count was even lower than the number of marks I got on my Biology GCSE. When I say, friends, the term 'acquaintance' would probably fit far much better. College just wasn't my thing in other words. I had no friends nor any personality traits which could even attract any attention from somebody towards me (not that I really wanted attention from anybody anyway, the spot I claimed in the corner always seemed fitting for someone like myself). I had no idea and still don't about what I really want to do in life. However, my parents, had the picture perfect scene planned for me.

Mum and Dad had always dreamed of me growing to be a successful young woman, I mean, every parent hopes that their child will have the life where they live happily, have a stable job and a loving family. I, however, have never seen myself to be able to step in the feet of my parents. With my mother being a surgeon and my father a lawyer the standards they had were over the rooftops and beyond.