So I didn't quite survive the day with Gale.
Just after I got in bed (and actually tried to sleep, for once) Gale started strumming away at his guitar, waking me up and probably winning us a noise complaint from the older couple upstairs.
I got up, and in a kind of tired, blind rage stormed into the living room.
"Can you not?" I asked, staring bullet holes into his eyes. He looked confused, but put the guitar down.
"Sorry..." he muttered, "Are you okay?" I collapse onto the couch next to him, realizing how stupid I was being.
"No... God, I'm an idiot. It's fine, you're fine. Not really, dammit. Why did I let you come? We've hardly talked for three years, not to mention the fact that we didn't exactly stop talking on good terms... What was I thinking? I mean you're great, I had feelings for you a while after you left, but what was I thinking? I mean, I even dyed my hair because you were coming, what the hell? Still though, whatever... I mean... Shit."
There I am, sitting on my couch next to my ex boyfriend, my hair a fuzz wild mess, and I just confessed pretty much my whole life.
I put my head in my hands, rubbing my eyes and running my hands through my hair. Holy shit. What did I just do? I hear the wheels of a suitcase, the opening and closing of the door, and he's gone. Gale's gone. I've scared him away.
Never in my life have I felt so stupid. Not even when I tripped down the stairs at graduation, or cried in front of everyone at a school retreat in Year Four because I was homesick. This trumps everything wrong I've ever done, everything else becoming just an ink blot on my record compared to this black page.
I stand up and run to the door, ignoring the tears stinging my eyes. "Gale?! Gale!" I keep yelling down the street, looking through the fog and glare from the streetlights to see him. But he's gone. I close the door and storm back to my room, sniffling and pinching back sobs.
Taking out my phone, I stare at the screen for a little bit. What do I do now? Sit and wait for crippling depression to set in, wallow in my own sadness for weeks?
I had one last chance with Gale. One last chance to make things good again, to get my best friend back. Things wouldn't have to be awkward, but I made them that way. I look at the screen again, at the numbers begging me to call someone. Get help.
But who to call? Who is even willing to put up with me anymore? I think of people who could even remotely help. Mum, Clara, Dan, even PJ. Not Mum. As wonderful as she is, and understanding, I don't think she'll be able to help much here. Clara might work, but I don't know... There's something painfully uncomfortable about having to call my older sister with my boy problems. Dan will just go after him, so my only choice is PJ.
"What's up Mia?" he asks, cheery as usual. I don't know where he gets it.
I sniffle. "I kinda screwed up..." I say, shifting in my seat.
"In what way?" he asks, suddenly a lot less light-hearted. I take a moment to answer, finding the right words.
"You know how my old friend was visiting?" I ask, "Well... I said some things... And then he kinda stormed off... Now everything just swirling around and I feel like the whole thing is just ruined. Plus my parents are leaving our old house, selling it just like that, and I'm hardly helping with the film at all. Sorry to be all emo and stupid, but I don't know. I needed to talk to someone."
PJ is quiet. "That sounds like shit," he says, after a long break. I smile to myself. Biggest understatement of the decade. The century.
"Just a little," I sniffle, "So what do I do?"
"Well, you sound like you're having a panic attack. Which isn't bad, considering all that's going on. If I were you I'd make myself some hot cocoa and take the day off tomorrow. Not have any responsibilities, just eat food and watch Netflix. Have you seen Psych? It's great, the whole thing's on Netflix."
I sigh, and look at my bare feet, red chipped polish on each. "Okay. Will do. Thanks for the help, I guess..." I hang up.
Hot cocoa? Sure. I can do that. I take milk and cocoa powder from the kitchen, and with shaking hands mix the ingredients together before microwaving it. Delicious. I take out a book from my bookshelf and crawl into bed, sipping the nice, warm, comforting drink before diving into the world of fiction. Better than what I'm currently in. I also text Dan, explaining that Gale left. He doesn't text back until the morning.
For some reason the shaky feeling from the so-called panic attack doesn't wear off. The back of my neck still feels like pins and needles, and everything feels less real, more like a dream, as if everything could shake away in an instant. I don't like it. My chest feels light, maybe from the almost-hyperventilating I was doing earlier.
Overall, I basically feel like shit.
"Feeling better?" texts PJ. I don't want him to worry.
"Yeah, lots, thanks for the advice!" I send back, hoping that cools him down. Wouldn't want to be dramatic.
It's about three AM by now, but I'm not tired any more. I take out my laptop, looking for some other form of entertainment. Trying to read proved impossible, as my eyes kept wandering off the page and through the bedroom door, to the empty living room.
I was going to go to Tumblr, but now a new idea comes into my head. I go to Google, and slowly type out "panic attack." Millions of articles come up, but the Wikipedia page is my first choice.
It very quickly becomes obvious that what just happened was indeed a panic attack, like PJ said.
And then, like a tsunami crashing in on the island that is me, I'm tired. No warning, just exhaustion. With my shoulders still holding the weight of the world and the sun peeking through my window, I lay my head against the pillow and fall asleep.
//2016: I take everything back this was awful I can't even look at it//
