Solitare

 “Alyssa, I need you. Help me with this.”

“Why weren’t you there when I needed you?”

“Well I have to deal with this, so you have nothing on me.”

“Tell me what to do.”

I want to be done. Fall asleep and never wake up.

The Beginning:

She’s here today. Why does she have to be here?

First it was my hands, I would look at them willing them to stop trembling. But then someone else noticed. It was the boy who sat across from me in my 11th grade chemistry class. It was his look of surprised horror which triggered the rest of my attack. Stop shaking everyone else will see. The trembling grew out from my hands and down my arms to my feet. My breathing became shallow quick gasps. I couldn’t breathe at all after a moment. My head started to swim, and then everything began to turn white. I shook my head a little and tried to breathe normally.

Stop. They’ll send me home. I don’t want to go home! (But I can’t take her anymore.)

That was when I started to go numb from the feet up, till I could no longer feel the lower half of my body. The bell to signal the beginning of class had not yet rung and the teacher was in the middle of a discussion with another. “help me”. No. I looked around and noticed that almost everyone around me was simply starring at me. The look in their eyes was either that of confusion, or as though they were seeing some freakish animal on display. “I did it to save you from pain.” My vision began to go white again. I somehow managed to release the lose folds of my jeans, I hadn’t even realized I was clutching them, and tried to stand up. My legs were shaky so I held onto to the desk till I could take the next step. Stop it! No one tried to help.

Using the sides of the lab tables I made my way to the teacher who up to that point had remained oblivious to my situation. Without really saying anything she asked me if I could make it back to my seat while she tried to call the nurse. “I’m depressed so you can’t know how I feel” get out of my head. Before she could move, my legs gave out. She caught me by the arm and held me up. I was hyperventilating and she was telling me to try to breathe normally while she led me back to my seat.

I looked around again and saw the same expressions. I bent over because my chest felt as though someone very strong was pushing down on me. I felt arms wrap around me again and the teacher led me to a wheelchair in the front of the room. Except for my gasping and the nurse trying to keep me calm the room was silent. And everyone was starring. I remember being wheeled down the hallway but not much after that. Just the eyes of my classmates always starring. No one tried to help.      

The Middle:

            The walls were yellow, not a subdued yellow that seems more natural, but rather a cartoony yellow. The yellow that you find in a children’s story in the pictures with the sun that has a creepy face. The boarder however was worse. Animals all looking very happy together, hunter being nice and playing with should be prey. While still looking very cartoony.

Then there was the furniture, used by visitors. It seemed as though it was made with padded blocks, didn’t look comfortable at all. It was blue, a deep royal blue. The type of blue that you might think to get lost in if you stare at it too long.

            Then there was the bed. Stiff yet adjustable with the panels of buttons on either side. That was also nice because I knew I wouldn’t be able to roll off and get tangled in all the cords, being the kind of sleeper that moves with my dreams. (odd I know). The sheets were a blinding white, and thin. But they gave comfort as well, because they remind you of the old worn out ones at home. The ones that you have had forever and begin to smell like home. These didn’t though.

            Then there is the monitor, blissfully silent due to the sound being turned off so I wouldn't go mad with the constant beeping, but it’s still there. I watch my pulse, heart rate and oxygen intake looking for signs of anything that might be wrong. Looking for signs of another attack. Because despite being put in the children’s ward (because I’m still seventeen) with all of the annoying colors, despite the nurses all being nice and treating me like an adult, I’m still in a hospital. And no one can tell me why.

            So I stare at the too yellow wall with a faint stinging in my arm, left over from the needle that took blood for tests, and wait to go numb. Because apparently that is what happens after an attack. An emotional numbness. A feeling that can’t really be called a feeling because there is nothing to it. And as I wait for this non-feeling to come, it starts to hurt. Right there in my chest. Right there where it began just yesterday. Then I know that I have to keep waiting, just for now.

The Middle Continued:

·         Panic Attack (definition) – period of intense fear or anxiety that is  sudden.

·         Signs:

o   Palpitations, or accelerated heart rate

o   Sweating

o   Trembling or shaking

o   Sensations of shortness of breath or smothering

o   Feeling of choking

o   Chest pain or discomfort

o   Nausea or abdominal distress

o   Feeling dizzy, unsteady, lightheaded, or faint

o   De-realization (feelings of unreality) or depersonalization (being detached from oneself)

o   Fear of losing control or going insane

o   Sense of impending death

o   Paresthesias (numbness or tingling sensations)

o   Chills or hot flashes

·         Possible causes: too many to list

“You have to change.”

I hear the voice inside my head, know that it’s mine , yet refuse to believe it. I don’t know if I can’t or just won’t. it’s just how I feel.

“You have to start talking to me.” Says my mother.

No, I don’t. I never say it because I know it will hurt her. I can’t hurt anyone.

“You have to share your feelings.”

No, I don’t. they are my own. Mine to accept and suffer with.

It’s your fault this happened.

I know.

---

“Why do you think that you have been having these panic attacks?”

“Stress.” Isn’t that the point of having them?

“What do you think is causing you this stress?”

“Problems at home to begin with.”

“What do you mean by problems?”

Really? “No one listens.”

“Listens to who?”

Me! Who the hell do you think?! “Anyone. We all just assume that we already know what the other is thinking and then we judge them for it. No one listens anymore”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Stress.” I’ve already said this.

“What kind of stress?”

“The kind that happens when you please everyone else, and try to fix their problems for them, and then ignore yourself.”

“Whose type of stress is that?”

“Mine.”

---

“You have to change.”

No, I have to adapt.