Page 21 of Falling for Fury

God, all because a boy talked to me? Because of my idiot brother and my uncontrollable rage? All because I just want to make Dad proud of me? I just want Mom to finally see me and finally believe that I am more than my faulty brain.

I can’t stop, turn it OFF.

I burst off the couch, a scream-sobbing mess, and head straight for the shower. Not the bath. I strip off my clothes and turn the shower head to hot.

Can’t… can’t breathe.

I climb in and sit on the floor, bringing my knees to my chest.

I can’t do this.

Wrapping my arms around my knees to bury my head in them.

I hate this. I hate feeling like this. Off, TURN IT OFF.

I stay like this, heaving tears in a silent, breathless cry, rocking back and forth, for about fifteen minutes when my breathing starts to slow.

My thoughts ease as I focus solely on the feeling of each water droplet hitting my back.

I recognize the feel of my muscles relaxing down my spine and start my breath exercises again.

In for 6, hold for 2, out for 8. Repeat.

I lift my head and let the water pour its way over my face, washing away the salty stains and remaining tears that fall, and let my focus go to the burning of the water on my skin, alleviating the numbness. I give myself another five minutes to calm my breathing, steady my heart rate, and stop the shaking, before I stand and turn off the shower. Too drained, too mentally exhausted to finish my shower. I remain focused only on my breaths and not allowing myself to think of the thoughts that had plagued me.

Each attack is as exhausting as the last. No matter how much I think I have perfected my techniques, it still feels like I have run a marathon after. My stomach muscles are sore, my eyes are red and tender, my brain is completely empty to the point I can’t form words, and I feel a deep ache of defeat down to my bones. I decide to make myself a cup of peppermint tea and lay in bed. I end up not even having a sip before sleep finds me the moment I lay down.

Addison

I woke early this morning, groggy, swollen, my head pounding. Remembering, and trying to forget, the awful dark emptiness of last night. I splash my face with cold water, put on my running shorts, and give myself a much-needed pep talk. “Today is your day. Grab it by the balls. Show it who is boss.”

Although, I am not sure my subconscious heard that one.

Fresh air and a few laps of the park helped. The spring sun was warm, and I was lucky enough to not run into anyone I knew. Socializing was off the table. Residual anger, sadness, defeat, frustration, and restless energy all powering the run, and I managed to set a new PB for my pace.

Once I make it back into the apartment, it is just past 6am, and both the girls are awake.

“Are you both usually awake this early and I never knew?”

“Yes, little miss night owl. You’re never awake this early. What on earth are you doing up? And on your way back from a run, no less?” Rosie chirps, her eyes grazing me from head to toe, red and sweaty from my run. Jeez, I really don’t see these girls enough in the morning. I don’t think I have ever seen Rosie so happy.

“I ended up crashing super early yesterday and so was able to wake up earlier. Set a new PB, though!” I smile at that and Casey turns with a happy-shocked look on her face as Rosie cheers.

“Yes, bitch! You’re amazing. Honestly, a true inspiration,” Rosie shouts, hand on heart with mock admiration, and I roll my eyes, hiding my smile. Casey leans over to throw me an enthusiastic high-five. Rosie smacks the stool next to her, signalling for me to come sit. I appease her and plop down next to her.

“Why’d you crash? I thought you’d be holed up in there cramming before the holiday?” Rosie says over her coffee mug as she takes a sip. Rosie loves that most people see her as playful and brainless, but her sharp eye misses nothing. She knows something is up. I shrug. I love these girls and they know I’ve had previous attacks. It doesn’t mean I like to talk about them.

Rosie levels me with a pointed look, and I roll my eyes. “I had a panic attack. Wiped me out. I crashed.” I am flippant with my words, hoping they don’t harp about it. The last thing I need is to dissect this the day after… with someone who isn’t my therapist.

My hopes are lost. Rosie’s coffee mug hits the table with force, and Casey has turned the frying pan off the stove and has now turned to face us with a sad look of concern on her face.

“No, no, no, no. We aren’t doing this. Don’t pity me.”

“We don’t pity you, babe. We worry about you, it is different.” Casey directs stern eyes at me.

“It isn’t different, not when you look at me like that and walk on eggshells around me.” I gesture between their faces.

“Okay, well, talk to us, tell us about it. Help us understand. We want to be there for you and help. You know that when you hurt, we hurt, too,” Casey says softly. I stare at her, her eyes softening, as Rosie reaches a hand to my shoulder and massages firmly before dropping it back to her coffee cup. I look at Casey, and she has a soft smile and nods reassuringly.

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