sentient // phan

out now: In Your Dreams

I remembered it vividly. The day I decided I never wanted to meet my soulmate.

I was in the minority with that decision. The rest of the world couldn't wait to find their soulmates. That one person that they were destined to be with. Their perfect other half.

And it's not that I didn't want my soulmate. I did. It was the whole dreaming thing that put me off.

The universe thought that it'd be a grand idea to show people the memories of their soulmates' in the form of dreams. Cute idea, right? Everything they've experienced you get to experience.

But to me the whole system was just messed up. What if they were some parts of your life that you didn't want them to witness? Why grant the person who was supposed to fall in love with you access to the ugliest parts of you?

The day started off like any other. There was nothing to forewarn me that I'd have another attack.

It wasn't anything in particular that triggered it. Perhaps it was the effort of socialising that did it. Or the mountain of homework I had piling up. Or the constant reminders from teachers of the upcoming exam period.

Maybe it was a combination of everything, or maybe it was nothing at all. Regardless of reason it was midway through my English class when I started to feel funny. I knew what was happening and so I excused myself from class to rush to the bathroom. My teachers knew about the anxiety, so none of them really questioned it whenever I abruptly ran out of class.

Just as I had locked myself in a cubicle I slid to the floor, my back resting on the door and my arms resting on my knees. Let the anxiety attack commence.

I had no real coping mechanism. Just knuckling down and bearing through it. Wait for the lights to dull to their normal brightness. For the sounds to drop to their regular volume. For the world to stop spinning and swooping beneath me.

But for whatever reason it felt different this time. It always felt bad, but this time was particularly bad.

Really, really bad.

My throat felt like it was closing up. My muscles were tightening, blocking off my airways, and that had never really happened before. Shortness of breath, yes. But complete constriction?

I knew it was all in my head. I knew that I was in no real danger. But the thing with anxiety attacks is that you forget all of that as soon as they start happening. Clarity and reason fly out the window entirely, only to be replaced with terror and paranoia.

I panicked and starting taking in frantic breaths, absolutely petrified that my throat would close off entirely and each breath would be my last. I felt like I needed to get as much air as I could now before I would stop breathing altogether.

I remember vaguely hearing someone enter the bathroom and knock on the door of my cubicle. "Dan, are you in there?" It was the voice of my teacher.

"I... can't... breathe," I managed to choke out between shallow gasps. My chest was in pain; a horrible aching pain like someone was squeezing my ribcage. I clawed at it, trying to remove the non-existent weight that was slowly crushing me to death.

That was it. I was dying. I was actually dying.

"It's just the anxiety, Dan. You'll be okay, just calm down," my teacher said through the door. Even with the pounding in my ears I could hear how rehearsed it sounded.

Just calm down. What a genius idea. Why didn't I think of that? We must let the mental health community know immediately that the definitive cure to anxiety attacks had been found.

He didn't get it. Not many people do. I couldn't just tell myself to calm down and boom... problem solved. It wasn't that easy.

In that moment I was one hundred percent convinced that it wasn't going to be okay. I was dying. I was dying and he was just standing there reciting pre-rehearsed bullshit he read off the back of a pamphlet.

I couldn't understand why he wasn't doing anything? Why wasn't he getting help?

I was scared and I couldn't breathe and I was going to die and no one was helping me.

I heard my teacher sigh; he'd had to deal with this one too many times. "I have to get back to class. Take your time, you're excused for the rest of the period." And that was it. That was his grand attempt at consoling me. He didn't care. No one cared.

I let out a strangled cry of frustration, while the terror I felt mercilessly ravaged my mind and body. I was completely helpless to stop it so I just let it consume me.

Dan Howell never wanted dreams. Because dreams meant he met his soulmate, and meeting his soulmate meant dooming them to a terrible life of memories about his anxiety-ridden past. But when he literally bumps into the boy he was supposed to be perfect for, he may realise he's willing to put his fears behind him and let himself be loved. But it's never as easy as that.

phanoutlet and I are writing this book together! It alternates POVs, with me writing for Phil and her writing for Dan. I can't wait for you guys to meet my baby, we've been working so hard on it!