When Anxiety Attacks

It was starting. Her bones were shaking under her skin. Beginning at the tips of her fingers, trickling up her arm. Like dominoes collapsing, it grew faster with every wave. Her breathing grew shallow. Her heart, fighting to jump out of her chest, was simultaneously being pushed deep into the depths of her stomach. She held her lips together, tightly, refusing to let any whimper escape. Even a slight sigh would release the trigger, yet she was loosing her battle.

A million and one thoughts boomeranged through her mind, each strike, loosening her grip on the control she thought she had. Why? Why had she succumb to the weakness of her emotions? Why did she let them in? When? When did they gain momentum? Enough momentum to surpass clarity and serenity, who were supposed to distract them from wreaking havoc. Wreaking havoc in the sanctuary where her worries were not welcomed, were not heard of. How? How was she laughing just two seconds ago? A whole two seconds of believing that they, her emotions, were only in town for a day or two, a week tops. A whole two seconds before being reminded that they were not planning on leaving anytime soon. A strike too many, she could not take it. It was the final blow, the shot heard throughout her body, sending orders to self destruct.

Her tight lip grew weak and began to quiver. "Deeper breaths," she tried to repeat to herself. But the darkened negativity blurred her words to a murmur. Rendering them silent. Voiceless, she clenched her fists as a sea of anger began to flood her mind. An anger that stemmed from her inability to stand tall like an Oak amid a wind of fear. The storm, forming against her, into tears that began to brim her eyelids. Desperately, she pushed to blink them away. But, her self encouragement, could not prove victorious over the single tear that managed to stain her rosy cheek. The flood was sure to follow and she was ill prepared.

Quickly, she inhaled and brought her index finger to her damp chin and dried the remnants of her pain. She scanned the empty hallway for any witnesses. Faster, she approached the exit door. Firmly, she shoved it open, giving way for the temporary light to cover the inexplicable darkness. Swiftly, she maneuvered through the crowd, avoiding direct eye contact. The clouds were surrounding her, offering little time to find solace. Jerking her card door open, she slid into her seat. The lump of her tears had found its way into her throat. Like a thermometer approaching its peak, it was about to burst. "Not yet," she humored herself, as if anyone could her hear let alone was paying attention to her.

Her hands gripped the steering wheel as she scanned the parking lot for an exit. The fuzzy headlights of oncoming traffic slowly became blobs to her eyes as the tears masked her vision. Streams of salty sorrow fell down her warm face. She released a sob. And then another. Still her mind worked readily as it calculated the time she had left before she had to pull herself out. She wondered if she should prolong her episode by taking the busiest streets. Even in her deep sadness, her mind was not entirely focused on herself.

The quickest of fifteen minuets pass, as her headlights clash against the garage door windows. She glances at her rearview mirror and puffy red eyes meet her gaze. Her fingers press lightly on her checks and smooth over the bags now hanging from her eyes. She reaches for her powder, slowly erasing the evidence of her attack. Her lungs intake a mighty breath as she pulls the door handle toward her. Swinging her left leg onto her driveway, she pulls her self up. She wanders through the door to find her mother propped on the lumpy couch. She lowers herself and greets her with a kiss. She shines her brightest smile, the one strategically placed after every storm. Gently, she asks, "How are you doing?"