『𝙇 𝙊 𝙎 𝙀 𝙍 』

Michael in the Bathroom

(TW: Vomit, Mentions of suicide, mentions of self harm. Based off the performance above. Descriptions taken from an actual panic attack I had. Please do not proceed if sensitive to the afore mentioned.)

❝ I am hanging in the bathroom at the biggest party of the fall.
I could stay right here or disappear, and nobody'd even notice at all. ❞

The door slammed shut.

Michael stood there, frozen.

What?

Did he hear him right?

Surely he didn't. He must've said something else. Jeremy wouldn't say that. He wouldn't call him that. He wouldn't insult him with the same word his most notorious bullies used on him. Surely he heard him wrong. No, no, no no no no NO. Jeremy knew how much that word affected him.

He didn't say it. He refused to believe that word came out of Jeremy's mouth.

If he did hear him wrong, why did he keep echoing it in his mind? It was like a broken record, playing over and over and over in his head.

Loser. Loser. Loser. Loser. LOSER. LOSER! Your best friend just called you a loser. You heard him right! Why are you denying it!

Michael blinked. He was holding in his breath without even knowing it. He exhaled loudly, his hand shooting over to the wall for support. His skin suddenly began to burn, pins and needles began poking through his scratchy sweater. A clawing feeling began to rise in his throat. "A-Agh.." He groaned quietly, slowly making his way over to the bathtub.

Michael's breath began to quicken in pace.

Jeremy just called him a loser.

❝I'm a creeper in a bathroom cuz' my buddy kinda left me alone.
But I'd rather fake pee than stand awkwardly or pretend to check a text on my phone.❞

His vision suddenly darkened, like a black cloud went over his sight. His head was aching with a fierce headache, and his body begun to crumble onto the floor. His heart was racing so much, he was scared he was having a heart attack.

"Y-you're fine. Hey. Hey, pull yourself together, you're- you're fine, you're—" He cut himself off with a loud gasp of air as he began to hyperventilate. His loud, desperate gasps for air echoed in the bathroom. He made it to the bathtub and he collapsed against the white surface, sitting up against the wall and trying his hardest to breath.

His thoughts were a mess, his mind was a mess. Everything hurt—was he going to die? Was he having a heart attack? Where did Jeremy go? What was going on? How long has he been in the bathroom? Was it weird to be in here for this long? Were people waiting to use it? Was he wasting time? Were people mad at him? Was Jeremy mad at him? Of course he was, you fucking idiot.

He then quickly realized what was happening.

He was having a panic attack.

❝Everything felt fine, when I was half of a pair. And through no fault of mine, there's no other half there.❞

The bathroom seemed bigger than ever. The bathtub seemed like it could swallow him whole. Michael felt so small. It was the only thing keeping him from the outside, but it still felt so huge. The lightbulb, which seemed to be a little comforting a few minutes ago, now felt like it was burning his own skin. "Agh!" Michael exclaimed, grabbing his head. "Breath! Breath! Fuck!" He ordered himself, but his lungs weren't cooperating.