Despite feeling a lot better these days, sometimes I can feel the panic and trembling feeling come back. I start to feel trapped. I feel trapped on every level—I’m trapped in my head, trapped in my skin, trapped in the room, the building, the campus. It’s the scariest feeling I know. It’s immobilizing to the point where, lo and behold, I actually am trapped. Sitting in a corner of a room trying to will my brain into a settled state. But it’s not to be coerced so easily. It’s not something that I can talk myself out of because at that point, I’m too far gone. My brain can’t register anything except the jittery impulses racing through my nerves. I become aware of every nuance of chaos. Air isn’t just something you breathe anymore; it’s trillions of vibrating molecules bouncing off me and around me. I can feel my skin start to crawl. It’s in this moment that I always realize exactly how crazy I really am. It internalizes as beyond repair. Huddled up as small as I can get, hugging my knees, I must be the perfect picture of a crazy person. I try to cry. I think of sad things and emotional movies. I need a release of some sort. I want to be like normal people and sob on someone’s shoulder. But sadness isn’t the right word and tears are not my reaction. I try to describe what I’m feeling. Pathetic. Angry. Stupid. Frustrated. Bottled up. Scared. Alone. Fragile. Weak. There is nowhere for these emotions to go, so I keep them up here in my head. Eventually, they scream at me so loud that I have to listen. It would appear to the outside world that I have a breakdown. Slash a razor blade across my thighs and revel in the physical pain. For me, it is not a breakdown but rather a fresh start. My emotions and feelings are dull and throbbing akin to the fresh wounds on my legs. But it’s bought me several hours of time where I can be back in control. Until it starts all over again.
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