My Mind On Paper

Diary Page Two: Panic

I had my first panic attack in a while today. I was in the car with my whole family, and my mom mentioned that I had a doctors appointment in the morning. Fine, I could lie my way through a few questions on whether I was happy or not. Then she told me I might have to get my blood taken.

Boom

It hit me like a truck. I asked my dad to turn up the radio as my breath got faster and I held back tears. I leaned my seat back and closed my eyes as my vision got blurry. My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest. My chest got tight, like someone was stacking heavy stone on it, which didn't really help with my struggle to breath correctly.

I know what your thinking, "Really, a needle? Your having a panic attack because of a little needle?"

No. I wasn't. I was having a panic attack because of where that needle was going. On the inside of my elbow. Where the cuts are.

I started cutting again recently, but I was smart this time. I didn't do the wrist, I did my upper forearm. That way, even if my sleeves rode up, no one could see anything. In order for the doctor to take my blood, I would have to pull up my sleeve, and everyone would get to see the cuts. I would be exposed.

No one even suspected that anything was wrong, but those stupid cuts would give me away. Probably earn me a trip to a mental hospital, or I would get medicated again to the point where even my friends don't recognize me.

I would fall behind in school. I would get bad grades. I would lose all of my friends, that probably hate me anyways. I wouldn't get into a good college. I wouldn't get a good job. I would waste my life all because of some stupid cuts.

Some stupid cuts that I needed to survive.

I fell down that spiral until I couldn't take it anymore. When I got home I ran to my room and buried myself in a cocoon of blankets, crying silently as I struggled to breath. Staring at the wall as the world seemed to crumble around me.

All because of some stupid cuts.