Story #1(unfinished):
I walked into the school building, looking forward to having a good day today. I got to see my boyfriend, have some classes with him and my friends, and go to my favorite activity after school. Today had to be a good day, right? Well little did I know I was wrong by a longshot. I would be having a panic attack and have to go to the ER because I thought I was dying and fainted.
I walked over to the social worker at school for my morning safety check-in. Afterward, she walked me up to homeroom, where I saw my boyfriend in the way.
“Hey!” I said excitedly and hugged Max. “Hey! How are you, love?” Max asked. “I’m okay!” I smiled. I walked into my homeroom as he walked into his. I sat down and noticed my leg bouncing, weird. What’s giving me anxiety?
I was able to pull myself together before anybody noticed, and my leg stopped bouncing. Already a start to a bad day. I didn’t want a bad day today. I saw my homeroom teacher, who I then realized noticed my anxiety when I walked into the room.
We headed off to our first two classes, which went by smoothly, I couldn’t complain. In science we learned about space and our surrounding planets. Social Studies we were on our genecide unit.
I sat down next to Max in my next class. My leg started to bounce again and my breathing got sharp. It was Max that was giving me anxiety, which didn’t make sense? He never did anything to hurt me. Besides grab me a few times, but that’s really it, it wasn’t meant to be harmful, right? My mind started to spiral into reasons Max could be giving me anxiety, which was only giving me more anxiety.
My hands started to shake and I started to hyperventilate. “Woah, are you okay, hon?” Max asked. I shook my head. “C-can you g-get Mrs. A?” I whispered. He nodded and stood up, walking up to the teacher.
“Hey, Aria’s having a panic attack, she asked for me to get you,” Max said. “I think she’s just overreacting but you know, that’s how she always is, the overdramatic queen that never can make things about others, but you can go talk to her, I’ll stay back here,” Max added. “That’s not really nice to say, especially since she’s your girlfriend,” Mrs. A said as she walked passed him. Mrs. A came over to me and knelt down beside me. I started to choke on my own breath and coughed.
“Breathe, deep breath in, deep breath out, what’s going on?” Mrs. A asked. “I don’t know… It’s s-scaring me…Ow-” I caught myself off guard with a chest pain and grasped at my chest. “That f-fricking hurt…I feel like I-I’m d-dying…” I choked out through sobs. My heart was pounding. “You’re not…I don’t think it’s smart for you to sit over here, I notice whenever your around Max you get anxiety, do you want to come sit up by me?” Mrs. A asked. I nodded. She grabbed my back pack and computer so I only had to walk to her desk. I suddenly collapsed. My knees were too shaky for me to walk.
“Woah, are you okay?” Mrs. A said, after she heard my fall. “J-just shaky k-knees…” I stood up again and walked over to her desk and sat down. I started to rock back and forth as I began to fel lightheaded. I suddenly couldn’t talk anymore, and I was hyperventilating. “If you keep hyperventilating, you’re going to faint,” Mrs. A said
I put my head down on the table and started to cry even harder. “The only thing he’s done to me is grab me, I don’t get it, why is this happening?!” I cried. “He’s grabbed you? Who? Max? What did he do?” Mrs. A sounded even more concerned. She sat at her desk and faced me. “He dragged me to choir when I didn’t want to go, but it wasn’t even that big of a deal, and yes, it was Max,” I said through a shaky voice. Suddenly, I fainted from hyperventilating. “Shit.”
I woke up in an ambulance, an EMT placing an oximeter on my finger. “Woah, what the hell!? Where am I?” I shot at the EMT. “Hey, calm down, you fainted during class and we just want to make sure you’re okay,” The EMT calmly explained. “I was having a panic attack, I’m fine!” I had trauma with ambulances from when I was younger, going inpatient because of my panic attacks.
I was in the hospital, thankfully not the psych ward. A doctor came into the room. “So, what exactly happened?” The doctor asked me. “I was having a panic attack, I was hyperventilating a little too hard and I fainted, It’s a normal occurance for me, I don’t know why i’m here,” I explained. “You shouldn’t be in this part of the hospital then, you should be evaluated.”
Next thing I know I was being transported to the psychatric unit in the hospital. I started crying and shaking again. “Not here again, no no no,” I murmured in the bed. I was sobbing at this rate when the clinician came in.
“What’s going on?” The clinician asked. “I was having a damn panic attack and I fainted and I was brought to the hospital and now I have to be reevaluated! I don’t need to go to a damn mental hospital, I need to go home! I’m fricking 16, I don’t deserve this!” I cried. “Yeah…but you seem pretty fragile right now, crying because your in a section of the hospital you don’t want to be in? Panic attacks? Does sound like you need atleast some outpatient treatment,” The clinician explained. “I’m fine! I have generalized anxiety disorder and post-traumatic stress disorder, I have trauma from being searched for drugs by cops in the section of the hospital! You can’t expect me to stay calm right now, can you?” I snapped. “Attitude…yep. For the anxiety we might send you inpatient so you can learn to cope with the things that trigger you,”
“How am I supposed to cope with things that trigger me if I’m not around those things!”
“You do have a point. Fine, will you settle at outpatient therapy?”
“Yes…”
“Okay, you’ll be discharged in a few, go make your ride call,”
I was super happy to be leaving the hospital, and I know my parents won’t make me have to go back through the outpatient center, because it was a toxic and unhelpful environment for me to be in.
I went to go call my mother. “Mom! I’m discharging!” I smiled on the phone. “Okay, we’ll be there in a few minutes, Mrs. A called and is going to stop by later to see how you’re doing, okay?” My mother said. “Oh..okay,” I got less enthusiastic, and more sympathetic.
She’s making time out of her day for…me? The doctor came by with my mother and the discharge paperwork for her to sign and then I was free to go. As I was changing my clothes I couldn’t stop thinking about what Max had said to Mrs. A. It wasn’t too by a longshot. I was always hiding the way I felt.
When we got out to the car I grabbed my phone from the hospital bag and texted him.
Me: Hey….
Max: you’re out..
Me: Yeah…
Me: Why’d you say that cruel stuff to Mrs. A?
Max: What are you talking about?
Me: Don’t you dare try to f---king gaslight me.
Max: I didn’t say
sh!t to her!
Me: That’s not true! You told her I was lying about my panic attack when I was quite literally about to faint!
Max: I didn’t realize you weren’t pretending this time!
Me: I never have! We’re f---king over!
Max: What…
Me: You’ve grabbed me, bossed me around, and played with my emotions, and now you’re trying to gaslight me. I’m done being your toy.
I put my phone on mute and looked out the car window. We were already pulling into our driveway, that was fast. I got out of the car and headed inside the house. I went up to my room and started to cry. My mother came knocking on my door twenty minutes later.
“You have a visitor,” My mother said. I stopped crying and sat up as the door opened. It was Mrs. A.
“Hey, earlier during class…that was scary, wasn’t it?” Mrs. A asked. “I was for sure scared to see you like that,” Mrs. A added. I nodded. “So…how are you feeling now?” Mrs. A asked. “Well…A little shook up, I broke up with Max, I got psychiatrically evaluated, and then you know, the whole panic attack crap, not a great day,” I explained. Mrs. A sat on the edge of my bed. “I get it, I do,” Mrs. A sighed. “I experience panic attacks as well, but it was my job to report the fainting, I knew you’d be okay afterward, but it was my job, and I felt like a jerk for doing that,” Mrs. A added. I nodded softly, looking at my lap.
It was silent for a moment. “When I had panic attacks when I was younger, I used to self-harm to prevent them, and it’d genuinely work, but you want to know why you never see me in short sleeves? I’m ashamed of the scars. I never even told Max I self-harmed. When I had the panic attack this morning, all those same thoughts came whirling into my head,” I explained softly. “I didn’t tell the ER because I didn’t want to go to the hospital again,” I added.
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