A vibrant spec with no purpose. People were consumed by thoughts of me for no reason that I could ever understand. Maybe it was the way my eyes always burned brighter than others because I had just been crying, or the way my lips swelled up because I had been biting them earlier in a fit of my usual nerves. I would like to say that people did not know these things about me, but I think they did, and I think thats why they were drawn to me. They wanted to swoop down to me like a real life angel and heal the pretty and delicate girl that I was. They wanted to change me, to reset me, like an out of place bone that only needs the most expert hands to jostle it back into it's socket.
I so wish this is where we could leave me, just a vibrant sweetly-scented and sad spec, but things just got so much worse. I was in my twenties where things got messy because I was drunk all of the time. I believed in nothing and to some degree felt slighted or wronged, for no reason that I could even nail down. And when the panic attacks hit, I would get so low and depressed. I would scream at my father and blame his genes, because I know he had two sisters who killed themselves as teens and an uncle who was terrified of leaving his house. And I would scream at my mother, too, because on her side there was liver failure and drunken tears.
When the attacks for really bad, I was afraid to leave my house. I wouldn't shower for days and I didn't have the strength to brush my teeth because I was drunk and having these attacks all of the time. I was so lonely but was always too weak to pick up the phone mostly and much too sick to remove myself from the apartment ever. The accessories to being sick were totally embarrassing, too. The debris, the fallout, the moods and the desires. Daily, I would get such bouts of panic that I would puke into a waste paper basket that was permanently stationed below to my bed, next to balled up tissues I collected from crying . View More »