ValiantNerd
Her mind felt like an oven. Hot, blistering, cooking her happy thoughts into nothing but charred little bits of gristle no one wanted to even look at. The anger squirmed around in her thoughts, turning every positive notion into ash. Not ice water, or fans, or arctic cool could soothe her suffering.
"It's all in your head" she told herself, trying to remain calm, but for the burning. But that just made things worse, didn't it? The fact that it was all in her head. There was no escape, no dream of awakening, no easing her negativity from her own mind, she was stuck right here until it passed. And who knew when that would be?
Taking a deep breath in she searched for a source of her sudden fury. She was met with confusion and fright and a hollow aching, all of these tempestuous emotions hurling themselves against the walls of her mind. It seemed as though her thoughts, so loud and wordless, were trying to fight their way out into an actual existence. They were clawing through her brain, as though they might seep out through her ears to become charred monsters set on terrorizing her and anyone she loved.
Marcella straightened the butter knives next to the flowered china plates, giving the whole table setup one last look-over. Everything must be perfect. The dual candle sticks lit the table with an eerie glow, setting the mood for what would be a most interesting evening.
When Joshua arrived home, he would be very pleased; the house would be cleaned, dinner would be set, and Marcella would be wearing the dress he liked best on her, it was a perfect anniversary evening.
Pulling the golden, crisp chicken from the oven she began carving and placing Joshua's dinner on his plate. He was due to arrive home any minute. Marcella felt surprisingly calm, given what she was about to do. She'd expected to be nervous, frightened; what if she failed? But the only emotions that filled her were determination and a sick giddiness in the pit of her belly.
The years of torment, the cruel words, the abuse, the rape were all going to stop tonight. And only one of the spouses would make it to see the sunrise tomorrow.
It always felt like the world was ending. The terror ripped through my body, shoving its dirty fingers down my throat, clutching my lungs, and scraping at my knotted stomach. I was a mess of tears, gasping, and crumbling in on myself to keep from exploding everywhere at once. I tried to wish it away; I tried to explain it away; but relief never game easy.
"It's just another panic attack," I tried to reason with myself. I needed to remember my breathing exercises, I had to breathe, remember to breathe. But how do you breathe when your whole universe is caving just under the surface of your skin?
"It's just another panic attack. Everything will be okay..." I caught my breath for just a moment, "right?"
Wrong. I was hurtled again into airless torment. Nothing was okay, nothing was right, it was all backwards and upside down, tangled, twisted, and hopeless. My world was ending, this was it. The attacks could last for just minutes, but sometimes hours. Grief poured from my eyes, and my white tipped fingers held as tight as they could around my stomach, willing myself to stay in one piece.
Squeezing my head between my desperate hands I held my breath. I needed to breathe, I just had to remember how to breathe. Yet there were so many prickly, needle-like thoughts jabbing themselves into any sense of reason I could muster. My mind was screaming for respite, I gasped, and coughed, and gasped again, clutching fist-fulls of hair, grabbing for anything that might stabilize me enough to break free.
My lungs stretched out once more, reaching for oxygen, finally being rewarded with precious relief. The numbing buzz of fright in my head slowly quieted. A few more deep breaths and the fog had nearly gone.
I laid back on my bed, just breathing, thankful for the silence. The things I would never know, never control, never understand seemed more distant and intangible. I could feel the soft fabric of my comforter, hear the chirping birds waking in their nests, see the specks of dust floating across the rising rays of sun through the window.
The world was still moving.
As if nothing ever happened, the dawn rose again. And so would I.
A radiant glow set over the dewy morning campus. Signs of life began to stir; squirrels hustled about their daily routine, birds hopped around, pecking at the moist earth, and sleepy students meandered, clutching cups of coffee, notepads, and backpacks. Right on the dot of 8 o'clock, she emerged from the dorms and into the sunlight of the yard.
Cecilia had been my closest friend since preschool, and she was perfect. She was everything I'd tried my whole life to be; smart and beautiful, with the kind of sense of humor everyone adored, quick wit, and a laugh that echoed into your soul for days. She had that perfect quirky-dream-girl quality about her. I couldn't help but feel like her life was some undocumented romantic comedy full of silly little misunderstandings where everything seemed haywire, but it all worked out in the end.
My life was nearly the opposite. I'd had a tough childhood, and so far, an even more difficult adulthood. I had always been lean and shapeless, with crooked teeth, and a sensitive soul.
The jealousy came like a fluttering bird in my stomach. It started out frantic, erratic, ever flapping, and then pecked at my guts, trying to get out. It was a desire to change, but hope that maybe that wasn't necessary. It was endless unanswered questions; Why couldn't I have that? How was it fair? Was I too far a misfit to ever be able to mold myself into such a vastly different roll? And would I be able to handle the change if given the chance?
Despair and a little self-loathing set in as I stuffed my face back into my studies. I would never be meant for such things...
My brain feels like it's becoming unhinged. Small pieces of me leave my mind, like I'm slowly unraveling into bare bones and skin, a shell of something that could have been - should have been much greater. I twist and turn and grab for the scrambling pieces of myself, but they slip away in the nick of time and I'm left empty handed, empty minded, alone to become a shadow.
The eleventh hour of every day always starts with a harsh beeping. My dreams are halted, and I'm ripped away from the worlds I create. The reality of the world around me seems so dismal compared to the one inside my mind. I could swim around in dream world for days and days, and never get sick of the sights. But the real world comes to me every morning with a buzz and beep as unpleasant as itself.