This was the way I became. My panic attacks were not only frequent but horrid, and they would come at the most stupid moments. Those sudden times when the floorboards fell from underneath my feet. When nothing made sense. When I felt like I was free-falling. Failing badly. When the maths didn’t math. When my stupid bloody brain just wouldn’t function.
I tried to swallow but ended up biting down hard on my tongue. My breaths felt like mere whimpers. My vision was swimming in a blur I couldn’t control. Nausea in waves, mixed with that horrid lack of control. I couldn’t stop it. None of it.
“This is ridiculous!” the man shouted, as the producer person was trying to talk to him, soft words that I failed to make out. Nothing made sense, and I was trying to get my head between my knees, instead making my bum hit the floor with an alarming creak. My arse would bruise. And my arms were flailing, trying to find some kind of stability in the too-tight trousers I’d been made to wear.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
This was not what was supposed to happen. This was not happening. This? This was truly someone’s idea of a cruel joke. What the fuck? What the actual mother-effing-fuck?
The cusswords spluttering out of my mouth in strained whispers felt unfamiliar and out of place. The same words that would usually make me freeze up as my body wallowed in old unresolved trauma were now flying out of my mouth, the rain of spit hitting my knees as I allowed tears to form in my eyes.
This was not me. This was not happening. This?
It went on and on. Over and over. People moving around, making wafts of air hit my skin as I rocked against my bent-up knees, my hands over my ears.
Like a child. Like a fucking child.
Then there was a sudden silence. A welcome relief that only seemed to fuel the panic in my chest. The urge to run. Flee. Get out of here. Just run until I couldn’t run anymore.
This wasn’t a new feeling, but it had been a while since I’d become like this without the help of my chemical friends. A bad hit. Scoring diluted shit. Coke made me careless and brave…but also paranoid. Any drugs did. They made my heart beat too fast, my brain spiral and my thoughts go to places I didn’t like going.
I’d taken stuff last night, obviously. The afterglow in my system was turning on me with a vengeance.
“That’s it.” He was shouting, the granddad, and I was trying to curl in on myself even further. A camera pointed straight at me. The production manager was sporting a weird mix of horror and excitement when I mistakenly looked up, wondering if this guy’s fists were next. A well-aimed kick at my already battered body. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Probably not the last. I’d had some bad experiences. Really bad…
“Get out. Everyone out. Now!” the granddad shouted, waving his arms around as I tried to move backwards, trying to get myself into a corner, when I was already crawling up against the sofa. Soft fabric behind my back. I wanted to go through it. Behind it. Anywhere but here.
“GET OUT!”
There were movements. Words trying to placate someone who was clearly out of control.
But then there was a door slamming shut, followed by…silence. An absolute deafening silence. The only thing I could hear was my heartbeat slamming in my chest. My pathetic whines for breath.
Alone. I was all alone in here, just me, my stupid panic and fuck…cameras. Bloody cameras everywhere. I couldn’t help the movement, the way my feet tried to get traction on the polished wooden floor, trying to crawl into a corner. Far away. A blind spot. Surely the cameras didn’t cover the corners. Far far away.
I hadn’t moved more than a few inches, my back pushed hard into the furniture behind me. The scraping of wood against floor. An ill-advised muscle movement. My eyes flickering.
He was sitting right in front of me, just watching me. A new look on his face.
Calm. Just calm.
“Just breathe,” he said. The granddad.
I tried to respond, with no idea what words I would have said had the air in my lungs let me form them. Another bout of wild panic shot through my veins.
“Breathe with me. Oliver, is it? Listen to my breathing, and try to breathe with me.”
“Fuck. Off,” I managed to force out in a weird voice that sounded nothing like my own.
“No.” Calm. How was he suddenly so bloody calm?
“In. And out, Oliver. Just slow your breathing down. It’s just a bit of a panic attack. Nothing that will kill you.”
I snorted. His sarcasm was definitely on point.
“Frrmngh,” came out of my mouth, as the breath in almost made me pass out. My wooziness was crippling, and I let my head fall back between my knees where it belonged. Then I rolled onto my side on the floor, letting my body curl up. Arms around my legs. Fetal position like the infant I was.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. Weirdly, it sounded…genuine. In return, I made some kind of snorting sound.
