Life is Liz (LiL, #1)

Chapter 62: Jersey Jealousy

Hey guys,

you don't believe this is real and I'm truly updating? Well, I can't either. But here it is.

Enjoy.

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Innocence is thought charming because it offers delightful possibilities for exploitation. ~Mason Cooley

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The resuming days in school were pure exhaustion. Ever since that afternoon where I'd endured my very first panic attack I'd been experiencing them frequently. It was like a dam had broken and everything needed out.

Sometimes it was one attack, sometimes it was three. Sometimes it was minor, sometimes it was all-consuming.

Slowly, a pattern was detectable.

It would start with my body becoming restless. The wringing of my hands and the bouncing of my feet, the playing of my fingers with the rubber band on my wrist.

Next was the lack of oxygen in my lungs and the furious beating of my heart.

Then it was everything all at once. And more. So much more.

As strangely as this sounded-especially because I wasn't sure this was something you could improve your efficiency in-I got better at it.

I wasn't able to say that it was now me that controlled my panic attacks, they still controlled me. But I knew what was to come and I was aware that there was nothing wrong with my body function. That it was all my head. And that I was indeed able to live through it. Once the unknown of the whole ordeal was revealed, a minimal amount of panic fell away. I did not fear for my life in the utmost sense anymore.

The triggers of said attacks were things my brain couldn't entirely fathom. Once, I only sat in a classroom and the air left me like the walls were moving in on my lungs and crashing them into my rib cage until they were shriveled and punctured, leaking oxygen into the outside world.

Another time I remembered clearly was when a teacher called me out in class.

I'd talked to Dr. Goodman last Saturday and reported everything back to her about the events which occured the week prior. Her reaction was an emotion undefinable. A cross between shock and surprise. She listened silently, stunned, as I relayed the information of the trigger, but when I came to the point of experiencing the panic attack I was lost for words. I tried to explain the roller coaster ride my emotions went through, but found I couldn't exactly recall the way I'd felt in the moment. At least I couldn't properly put them into words a human being would understand. So, all I gave her was a vague description.

As I filled her in about Ryan and about telling him about my past she reassured me that it was okay for me to choose the people I want to share it with and that I did not have to tell everyone.

I hadn't spoken about this new development to my parents till Saturday. Deep inside telling them, I knew, was right, that keeping this from them was impossible. When I brought this up during our therapy session Dr. Goodman encouraged me in my decision.

So, that day still, I mustered up the courage to mention it to dad. I clumsily attempted to explain that the reason why I'd been feeling so tired and exhausted to the extent of not being able to do anything else but lying around was due to panic attacks. It was easier albeit not easy at all to express my feelings to dad. Whenever I did this with mom she got so emotional that it made me feel guilty. Guilty for making her worried, for being like this, for telling her.