Together We're Invincible | Gunil

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The first memory I have is faded like an old photograph, the edges yellowed by the passing of time. I was sitting in a green garden, small flowers dotting the ground beneath my feet. I was around one and a half years old at the time, stumbling around on shaky legs. My older brother was somewhere in the bushes to my right. I could hear his squeaky laugh and the rustling of leaves as he and my father played together.

My mother sat in front of me, arms opened wide and waiting for me to stumble into them. She was smiling, her features sparkling in the midday sun. She was beautiful. She was always so beautiful. I remember her calling my name gently, voice dancing with the summer breeze and harmonising with the chirping birds.

As I curled up on the floor of my bedroom having yet another panic attack, the echoes of that memory came crawling back to me. Tears burned my vision, and my breathing was ragged. Terror overwhelmed my senses, muffling them like a wet cloth. As the world around me faded from existence, the sounds of birds and laughter began to fill its place.

My hands ached. My knuckles were white as I gripped my knees to my chest; my chin tucked on top of them.

The first time I had realised I was different, I knelt down beside my bed; curtains drawn open just enough to bathe the room in moonlight. My Bible lay open on the covers in front of me, and my cross necklace was tangled between my fingers. I didn't sleep that night, as I was too busy praying for it to depart from me.

Looking back, I think I understand exactly what it was on that very first night, I just refused to admit it to myself. So instead, I forced myself to remain silent. I locked myself in my bedroom when the silence felt disgusting and when the anxiety overtook me. Lonely panic attacks tucked away in the corner of my room slowly became a regular occurrence.

The most memorable attack was the day I got my period. I was thirteen, and already stressed enough thanks to a mixture of school work and the new necessity of wearing crop tops. They were all too tight and uncomfortable. I wanted more than anything to enjoy the feeling of a flat chest against the fabric of my t-shirt again. But, alas, some of the kids at school had already picked on me for my slightly showing chest and obvious lack of any sort of support underneath. That was embarrassing, so I gave up and finally dragged the pile of new underwear out from a bag in my cupboard my mother had gotten for me a while ago.

I sat at my desk, biting at the end of my pencil as I did my best to wrap my brain around what the homework sheets in front of me were asking. Groaning, I scribbled out the useless notes I had left in my notebook. Tearing out the page, I tried to throw it across the room and into the mini rubbish bin by my door. Unfortunately, the crumpled paper bounced off the wall and landed perfectly beside its mark.

I had just hauled myself to my feet to go plop it down in the correct place when I happened to look down at my desk chair. In the centre of the coloured fabric sat a small red dot. My stomach felt uneasy, a strange feeling coming to settle over me. With trembling hands, I pulled the front of my pants forwards to peer inside. Sure enough, my underwear sported a brand new red stain.

I felt sick. When my mother had told me I would one day get a period, I was sure she was lying. Me? There was no way. But, there I was, standing beside my ruined desk chair and wearing soiled underwear.

Panic overtook me in seconds.

My breathing grew rapid and my vision swam. I suddenly felt so disconnected from the whole world and so disconnected from my own body. I collapsed without really registering that it had happened and rocked myself side to side. My memory fades there and I'm not too sure how long it was before the door to my bedroom swung open and my mother was rushing to my side. She held me until I had calmed down, shhing me gently and kissing the top of my head. All I could do was think of my screwed up ball of mistaken notes lying rejected on the floor.