I talk to my therapist about you

My own enemy

"So things are good?" My boyfriend mused, his smile almost audible over the phone.
I flopped onto my bed, the duvet and cushions jumping up lightly upon impact.
"Hopefully things are gonna be good, Tyler..." I replied, essentially avoiding the question and addressing him.
I licked my dry lips, trying to stop the painful cracking of them from stopping me talking.
My nails lightly scratched at the leathery skin of my forearm out of pure habit as I listened to Tyler's melancholy sigh.
"Bri..." He exhaled in a doubting manner.
I knew he was disappointed in my pessimism when he addressed me. It was usually "Babygirl." Or "Princess.".
There was a long silence. Although completely quiet, it was comfortable.
My throat closed up a little.
"I love you." I croaked, trying to hide the fact that my eyes were welling up.
The statement of promise was returned and the phone call ended. I was alone.
Thoughts overwhelmed me. Panic. My breathe increased pace, leading me into a state of hyperventilation. Without further warning, my left leg began violently shaking, vibrating harshly against the carpeted ground.
A thousands tormenting needles began to bully at my feet, paralysing them and slowly moving up my leg, up my waist, torso, chest...
I was being consumed with anxiety of loneliness. I was my own enemy, and I feared for my life.
I knew this short attack was only temporary, but nevertheless it had me in uncontrollable sobbing in which i was attempting to silence. My mum had too much to worry about. I could do it myself.