Authors: Victoria Sawyer
“It’s going to be okay, Victoria,” she says, smoothing my
hair. “We will keep you safe,” she murmurs. Only she knows that they can’t. My
parents can’t protect me from the world, or from my new found internal terror.
I shudder, my body completely exhausted from panicking all
evening. All I want is to sleep. I want to lie down and feel safe, to recoup my
strength. My father carries me to the bed I’m sharing with my younger brother,
my eyes drooping, simply unable to continue the constant vigil. Finally I sleep
and the shaking stops.
My parents go into the bathroom, my father comforting my
mother as best he can. Now my mother is the one who can’t stop crying. The
curse has been passed on. There is no stopping it now that it has taken hold.
When I crack my eyes open the next morning, I know that
there are four more days of vacation and then the long drive home to New
England. I don’t feel much better. Lying in bed as the sun peeks through the
thick cloth curtains, I think about how stressed I suddenly am about the coming
days and I start inventing things to be afraid of, racing through each scenario
and opening up new ones like shiny gifts on Christmas that turn into
nightmares.
Just lying there, my body is already quivering with nerves
and I can only imagine all the trapped situations I might encounter today or
tomorrow or for the rest of my life. I know people will make fun of me when I
embarrass myself, as I inevitably will, when I begin to feel the way I did
yesterday again.
I can hear my parents in the bathroom now and I have to get
up and ready a bag for the day because we’re going to the Kennedy Space Center
with my cousins. I honestly don’t want to go, but I have no choice. I don’t
want anyone to know my secret. Something is wrong with me. Normal people do not
feel or act this way.
As I put a water bottle in my bag, I wish that I could erase
the day before. Erase the fear, the tension, the racing thoughts, ease my
quivering body. But there is nothing I can do. I am helpless and the future
suddenly seems hopeless.
I use the bathroom just before we are about to leave,
desperately forcing myself to squeeze out every last drop of pee. I don’t want
to have to go again, but I know I will have to, even if I don’t drink any water
all day long.
I stand in front of the mirror to wash my hands. I’m not
surprised to note that I already feel nauseous, tense, scared, hot and jittery.
I stare at my reflection, my eyes bloodshot, my mouth turned down at the
corners. I take stock of myself. I am a skinny, dark haired child. My large
eyes are bright green, almost startling in their luminosity, especially with
the sheen of unshed tears. Freckles spatter across my upturned nose and my
teeth seem too big for my face.
The vision I see in the mirror is me, who I am, supposedly,
but that vision does not express the way my mind works or the way I feel
inside. A realization creeps over me, the words tumbling into my head quietly
like falling leaves.
I.
Am.
Crazy.
This is my new shameful truth. Something changed yesterday. A
door has been opened that I can never close again. I touch my reflection, the
glass smooth and cold, not really believing that the girl I see is me. I want
to cry, but I can’t let myself.
#######################
The next night we’re back at the shuttle lift off site. I’m
sick, nervous, trembling all night long, just like last time. Apparently this
is a constant for me now. And as the shuttle goes off in a blinding white
light, exploding into the sky, I think, this is it, this is my new life, my new
existence. I’ve launched head first into crazy.
The moment I sit down at the table I know it’s a mistake. I
can’t believe I agreed to come out tonight. I look over at him and he’s got the
menu up and is intently reading about burgers, pasta and steak. I pull the menu
toward me, my hand clenched in a fist as my stomach does the same inside me.
Shit.
Please, don’t let this happen to me here.
“What do you want to eat, Vic?” he asks, eyes still moving
over the menu.
“Um…I don’t know yet,” I reply, sort of hoping he won’t
notice. Maybe I can get over this, stop this before it really starts.
I unclench my hand and peel open the menu to distract
myself. I try to focus on the words inside, the delicious looking photos of
fries and chili, but everything is blurry, dreamlike and all I can do is focus
inside on my body, my thoughts, the way I feel, the fact that I feel trapped
here. We drove 20 minutes to get here. I can’t get away to safety for at least
30 minutes and even then that’s just to his house. My house is another 20
minutes away
. Shit. Shit!!!
Why did I put myself into this situation?
Have I not learned my lesson yet? Lately, I’m incapable of doing anything,
especially sober. I knew this was a bad idea, but I wanted to see him. I wanted
to finally go somewhere, do something with him. I’ve been full of excuses
lately and I knew if I kept it up, avoiding all my trigger places, he would
know that I’m losing control, or he’d think I didn’t want to be with him. And that
would be the farthest thing from the truth.
I flush with heat and soon sweat is beading on my skin under
my clothes. I wore too many layers, it’s so hot in here!
I need to leave.
I am going to be sick, my stomach is gathered tight like a fist. I scan the area
for the bathroom or for a waiter to tell that we’re leaving. I look across the
table and he’s still reading the menu. Finally a waiter comes back to our table
and asks for our orders. I grip the menu and force myself to read it while he
gives his order and then their eyes are on me and there’s no way I can say
we’re leaving now. That was never really an option, was it?
“I’ll have the…um…I’ll try the Chicken Parm,” I finally
blurt out and the waiter smiles and walks away.
Oh damn, now I’m even more trapped.
Shit. Fuck!!!
I’m burning up and I can feel my cheeks growing red and my
hands are shaking in my lap, so I reach up to finger the rolled up silverware. But
still my hand shakes, quivering on the table. I bring my other hand up and
clamp it over the first
. Stop. Now.
My stomach aches and I can’t breathe. It’s so damn hot in
here. Can’t they turn down the Goddamned heat? I’m going to be a sticky mess
for the rest of the night, like I’ve been freaking working out.
Faaaack
.
Finally he really looks at me and notices something is up.
“Are you okay, Vic?” he asks and I can tell he’s realized
the truth. My eyes must be huge, like a deer in the headlights, ready to be run
over by oncoming traffic, totally stunned.
“Um…yes. No. I don’t know,” I say in a tight voice.
“Babe, are you having an attack?” he asks with a knowing
look, his face so sincere, so caring that I feel tears start to form in my
eyes. He knows. He knows the truth, unlike everyone else in my world. He’s the
only one. He reaches across the table and puts his steady hand on top of my
shaking one.
“Yes, I’m freaking losing it,” I say with a tense smile,
reaching up with my other shaking hand to brush away the tears that are almost
over my lids.
“What do you want to do?” he asks, matter of fact. “We can
do whatever you want. Do you want to leave?”
I don’t say anything. I nod and I can feel that my face must
look like I’m in distress mode. I can’t seem to control it. The truth is that I
don’t really want to leave, but I feel like I have to. I’m going to be sick all
over this table in five seconds or I will have to use their bathroom 15 times
in one hour, I might as well get my dinner sent to me in the fucking bathroom.
That’s
just awesome. I can’t fucking handle this!
“Okay, let’s go. Come on,” he says, getting up, pulling on
my limp hand.
“We can’t go, we just put in our order!” I say to him and he
smiles at me.
“We can do whatever the fuck we want, princess, and I’m here
to remind you so,” he says, pulling on my hand again.
I don’t get up. I just look at him.
We can do whatever we
want. Really?
“Look, I’ll go pay them right now. I’ll tell them to cancel
the order, or we can just totally blow this joint, I don’t care which, but you
are more important to me than some dinner out,” he says and I feel faint. He
thinks I’m important, he cares about me as much as I care about him. I’ve never
felt this way before. Protected, understood, maybe even loved or cared about an
awful lot. It feels so good. Tears rush to my eyes again and I pull on his
hand.
“No sit, I can do it. I’ll make it. Just talk to me,
please,” I say.
He looks at me, serious, questioning, finally raising en
eyebrow to make sure I’m serious. I nod and he sits again, eyes on mine.
“Tell me about class. Did you skip again?” he asks, a
teasing glint in his eyes.
“I…ah…went to one class today. I skipped one.” I say,
putting my head in my hands. “Don’t judge, don’t scold, that’s not too bad
right, 50/50?” I say with a tiny smile, looking up at him and he laughs
outright.
“Hun, I just want to make sure you’ll be coming back next
semester. That’s the most important thing. If you need to you can always
withdraw.”
I smile, tears forming again. God I’m so emotional today and
he’s so understanding. I’ve never really talked with anyone about this shit and
it’s like heaven to be able to talk openly, to not have to hide how I really
feel.
“I think I can make it through the rest of the semester. I
probably won’t get stellar grades, but I think I can do it. I don’t want to
have to admit that this thing is that big. I feel like it gives it more power
if I give in to what it wants,” I reply.
“Yeah, I can see that. But I want you to be okay, Victoria. I
want you to know you can talk to me about this whenever and you can withdraw,
it’s not the end of the world,” he says, warm large hand on mine again.
I smile for real this time and I am now officially
distracted and officially in love.
#######################
Back at his place, we get out of the warm car to say
goodbye. I lean against the cold passenger’s side door and he leans against me,
warm hands on my face, holding my eyes to his.
“You’re gonna be alright, kid, you know that,” he says and
I smile and nod, tears creeping in again. “Look at those stars,” he says and I
look up at the dark night sky at the wide spread of glittering yellow points of
light.
“We’re just these little things down here and in the big
picture would it really have mattered if we left the restaurant tonight? No, it
wouldn’t have mattered at all. It was just some dinner out, some restaurant
with okay food. It’s not a big deal, Vic. I want you to remember that you come
first, that you are important and that you are not crazy. And if you need to
take care of yourself, then that’s okay. But it’s good that you worked through
it, that you did stay. That was an accomplishment. So stop shitting on
yourself. I can see you doing it right now. I can see that you feel guilty and
terrible about it. So stop it. Really,” he says, staring into my eyes, finally
putting his arms around me and pulling me tighter against him. And then he
kisses me, warm mouth, tangy minty breath, like the air, cold, exhilarating,
exciting and I kiss him back.
This is like freedom. I never knew it could be like this. I
never knew I could trust someone so much and have them be...so…right.
He pulls away. “I feel like….you’re special, Vic. I mean
that,” he says and now he’s opening my car door and pushing me inside. “Come
on, you gotta get home, girl. Work on that homework and get that pretty ass to
class.”
I sit down and smile at him through my wet eyes.
Oh my
God.
“Bye,” I say with a smile and he says,
“Bye, love,” and closes the door. I turn on the engine and
let the car sit for a moment and idle. He’s not walking up the walk yet to his
front door, where is he?
And then I see it, a heart being traced into the frost on my
back windshield.
The water is hot, scalding, and I relax under the stream,
some of my tension flowing out of me. Tonight I’m going to a party, a Halloween
party at a frat house on campus. I’ve been invited by a few girls in my
Astronomy lab. Inside I’m humming with excitement at the idea of getting
dressed up in a sexy costume, getting blazing drunk and going out where lots of
people are bound to be. It’s scary as hell too, my ever present stomach clench
of dread is nagging at me, but luckily my super-secret anti-anxiety elixir,
alcohol, should save me.
I finish up, turn off the water and jump out of the shower,
drying myself as quickly as possible in the cooler air. I wrap a towel around
me and move to the counter, where all my supplies are spread out.
Time to
get glam-o-rous
.
The freakin pains we go to for beauty.
I hum to
myself as I pick up each tool, using them deftly, my wrists flicking as I apply
blush to my cheeks. I’m trying, and failing to distract myself from the
obsessive thoughts of anxiety about the night ahead.
One of the girls I’m going to the party with is Hannah, a
pretty blonde with blue eyes and a cute upturned nose who I had met in class
several weeks before. She’s the kind of girl I always wished I could be, cute,
petite, thin, and definitely the kind of girl that guys love. We had been
assigned as lab partners and became fast friends. Hannah is easy to talk to,
loves to laugh and has a dirty sense of humor just like me. We’ve spent a lot
of time together recently, eating lunch, hanging in her dorm room, and even a
quick trip to the mall in my car, albeit with some heart thumping panic thrown
into each activity on my part. The other girls are Hannah’s friends and are
really nice, although I don’t know them well yet.