The Desolation of Penelope.

In a panic I sprung upright in my bed. My heart pumping out of my chest, sweat beading down my face. This shit is getting old, I stare at the medication bottle sitting on my nightstand. With a sigh and roll of my eyes, I slug across to my bathroom.

The only thing that cures a midnight panic attack is lying in the shower and just letting the warm water scold my pale frigid body.

I've been on sedative's to help with sleep since the night terrors returned, but sometimes that's just not enough. Its like my brain is punishing me for not wanting to live through the trauma of night terrors. Like there's a message or deeper meaning. Now I'm just feeling nauseous and delusional.

Welcome to my life, my own living hell. I'm Penelope, but they call me P for short. I may be broken but so are you.