“Hey, Sparky. You’re okay.” Coach? When did he get here? I can’t see him. Everything’s so dark. Why can’t I see him? “You’re okay, Danny.”
“I…I’m…dying…”
“You’re not dying.” He moves my hands away from my ears and holds them. “You’re okay. Just breathe for me, okay? In like this,” he softly instructs. “Then out like this. Breathe for me.”
I do but it hurts worse. Everything inside me swells and feels like it’s getting stabbed with a million knives.
“Danny, you’ve got it. Breathe for me.”
“I-I can’t…”
I know you will but not with me. I need you to let me go.
“You can. You’re doing it right now.”
His face comes into view. It’s blurry, but I see him.
“You’re having a panic attack. You’re okay, Sparky. I need you to breathe for me, okay? You can do it, just breathe,” he instructs again just as gently as the first time.
“I’m…not dying?” Am I crying? I feel the hot tears streaking down my face. I’m drenched in them and sweat, so much sweat.
“No, no. You’re not. You’re okay. You had a panic attack.” His face is a little clearer now, and now that I see him better, I see that he’s crouched on the floor in front of me, still holding my hands. “But I’ve got you, okay? I’ve got you. Keep breathing for me, okay? You’re doing good.”
I attempt to nod but my neck is so tense. “I’m sorry.” I raggedly pant, feeling so embarrassed.
“Don’t ever apologize, Sparky. Things happen and sometimes those things are out of our control.” He sits next to me, brings his arm around my shoulder, and hugs me.
“I don’t know what I’m doing.” I choke on a sob, the void in my chest burns. I don’t understand why when there’s nothing there.
There is so much effort put into existing. What the fuck even is the point? Why do I keep trying?
“That’s okay not to know. We’re going to figure it out together, okay?” There is so much hope in his voice, I believe it for a second until it slips from my fingers. “We need to have the doctor check you out and then we’ll go from there, okay? But you’re going to be okay, Danny. I promise you will be.”
“Danny?” Penelope whispers, stepping into my room.
I clutch my comforter, burrowing myself deeper into my bed.
“I’m fine, Pen.” I close my eyes, my head sharply pounding. “You don’t have to be here.”
She rushes to my side. I don’t open my eyes, but I know she’s sitting there, probably watching me with concern.
“Don’t say you’re fine. You had two panic attacks. That’s not fine.” She leans over me, wrapping her arms around me, and envelops me in a tight hug. “It’s okay not to be okay. Don’t be embarrassed.”
“Did Gray tell you?” He has a thing for not keeping his mouth shut.
“It doesn’t matter who told me. You’re not okay. Do you want me to call Mom and Dad? We can drive back home and?—”
“No. I don’t want you to call them. I don’t want them to know about this.”
“But they should know. Especially with?—”
“Adrian’s anniversary, I know! But I don’t want them to know. I don’t need them to worry over nothing.”
I shrug her off me and sit up, frustratedly dragging my fingers through my hair. Anguish floods her face as she scans mine. I know I look like shit. I got looks from my teammates outside the locker room after I finally got the strength to stand.
Coach D’Angelo and I sat on the ground for almost thirty minutes. I would’ve stayed there longer but Dr. Emerson, our team doctor, wanted to do a further assessment, and I needed to shower.
There were a series of things he said. Panic attack, dehydration, depression, stress, anxiety, medication, and so much more, but I kept coming and going.
