The Inside Attack Outside

You aren’t sure what triggered it.

All you know is that suddenly you feel faint and your heart is ricocheting off your ribcage like a demented ping-pong ball.

You ask to go outside, you say you don’t feel well as you try your hardest not to fall over.

The teacher looks at you and immediately says you look pale, to go outside and sit with your head between your legs.

You try it for a couple of minutes but to no effect, you still feel strange.

You go back inside the classroom, sitting down and staring into space as your classmates finish whatever they are doing.

Then the bell rings. You go back to get your stuff- and suddenly realise what your breathing sounds like, all harsh and sharp as your lungs whoosh in and out.

You are just hyperventilating, but it seems a lot more serious.

The teacher catches your arm as you walk out, your eyes staring at the ground in panic like it might try to save you. He says, “Are you all right?”

You say “no”.

By that time you are trembling, your heart booms in your ear, a continuous roar. This rate isn’t normal. You have enough thinking power not taken away by the blind panic to notice that.

The teacher touches a hand to your forehead, repeating the previous thought that you were too pale. Suddenly he tells you to get to sickbay and you follow the order dumbly as that faint feeling increases, your stomach and heart both fluttering like trapped butterflies.

After awhile you realise that teacher is still there beside you, trying to talk you through that sudden “fight or flight” natural response your body has sprung on your defenceless consciousness. He puts a reassuring hand on your tensed back, taking your books and using his drama training to try and calm you down. It doesn’t really work. Your heart still feels like it may hurtle through your chest at any moment.

As you climb the stairs he instructs you to hold on to the banisters, and you gladly do. You think you are dying because everything is going way too fast. You don’t seem to see the students going the opposite way to you. They go past in blue and flesh-coloured blurs. All you can take notice of is your body reactions, making the next step without dropping dead and the voice of the person next to you who is doing their best to help.

Suddenly you find yourself in that dark and dingy, but oddly quiet room that you hadn’t ever had to visit before. You sit down, your books placed beside you as that nice teacher goes to find a more qualified person. There is no focus on anything around you as you fight that internal battle that rages. You just stare straight ahead without seeing.

Finally the teacher comes back with another, they glance at you for a moment before helping one another to fix the old plastic bed for you. They tell you to lie down. You do it without hesitation because your every muscle has a tremor running through it.

As you lie still, watching around you with a newfound nervous fear of the world, they cover you with three faded woolly blankets. They tuck you in like you are their own child, making sure every inch of shaking skin is covered sufficiently. Your voice sounds scared and small when you apologise to the helping teachers, like you’ve been reversed back to a child. The teachers laugh, telling you there is nothing to be sorry about. You couldn’t help it. You always have to apologise.

The first helping teacher turns to leave and you quietly call out a hesitant thank you. He says that’s all right- and then he goes, and you are left with the other teacher. She presses a lukewarm glass of water into your hand, because you said something about being dehydrated.

Then you are left alone to stare at that black thing on the orange ceiling, wondering whether it is a spider that only moves when you look at it or just your eyes playing tricks on you. Occasionally random people come in- one who stood out was an old woman who told you to ask God for help when you have these attacks. You act polite, but snort silently in your mind. You know that whatever God is, it has more important things to do then miraculously make these horrible feelings go away.

After awhile the panic ceases slightly and a huge feeling of weakness comes over you. When the bells go, you manage to pull yourself up into a sitting position, even though a wave of dizziness impacts in your brain. You pad through to the front of the office, telling them you think you can leave, trying to ignore the fact you still don’t feel normal. Then you go back outside, head down, your personality completely retreated.

The shaky feeling won’t leave you for days, so you try to get it out by writing about it. You write about it numerous times, but it won’t go away. You know the panic is turning into depression. You are fighting the urge to do something stupid, reminding yourself fruitlessly that your life is not that horrendous, compared to others.

But in the end, you find yourself rewriting this, hoping to find some kind of help.

And even then, you wonder if anyone would bother to care.
Posted on June 19th, 2007 at 06:23am

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