Fortress of Solitude

“I’m ready,” I declared, “I’m ready to get out of this house and explore the world,” I grinned at my parents. They smiled back at me, a sense of relief painted across their face as they gave each other a sideways glance,

“We’ll help you,” Dad said quietly back “we’ll do this together.”

---

It was a school like any other, so I’m not sure why it had to change my life; ruin my life before it had even had a chance to begin, in essence. I was an average teenager, as in to say there was nothing extraordinary about me and I was just like every other student that passed through. I had been told in my younger years how amazing I was and that I had a bright future, yet none of that had come to fruition. But I was happy; I had friends, I passed my classes, nothing was amiss. Or so I had thought until that fateful school day in science class;

“Now, this is a sedimentary rock. It’s a type of rock that is formed by the accumulation of…”

 And then I was no longer listening. A ringing drummed its way through my head, overtaking my consciousness and forfeiting any train of thought before it began.  I clutched at my chest when I felt the abstract knife pierce through my pericardium.  My lungs contracted, sucking the air into them and holding my breath captive while my throat closed, depriving of my much needed oxygen as I gasped for breath. My eyes darted around the room, looking for an exit as I scrambled to my feet, knocking the seat out from under me and sending it scattering across the floor with a bang. The lurch set my stomach reeling and nausea gripped at me, sinking its claws in and sending the contents spilling out over the desk and floor in front of me; eliciting a few gasps and disgusted moans. I felt the burden of every eye turning to me around the room, adding to the weight crushing against my windpipe. I stumbled as I tried to move, my feet feeling numb beneath me and not co-operating with the journey across the room to escape out the door and I came crashing to the floor. The world around me slowly started ebbing into darkness as I saw concerned faces begin to crowd my vision before I succumbed completely to the darkness.

---

“Is she okay?”

“What happened?

“Everyone get back! Stop crowding!”

“Look, Miss, she’s waking up!”

“Get back, get back for Christ’s sake! Give her some breathing room! Elliot?”

I sat up groggily, my head swimming, the taste of vomit staining my mouth as the room slowly warped itself back into view.

“I’m okay…” I muttered; keeping my eyes from meeting with anyone else’s, ashamed of what had happened.

“Can you stand?” I nodded, allowing the teacher to help me to my feet, wavering a little in dizziness as I clung to consciousness. “Someone needs to help her to the nurse…”

“No, no. It’s fine. I can go,” she eyed me up and down before letting out a drawn out sigh

“Fine. But I’m calling her to explain what happened…and then the janitor…” She said as she turned around and saw my lunch contents all over the classroom furniture, other students looking green as they pinched their nose shut.

I walked slowly to the nurse, my mind mulling over what had happened, trying to make heads or tails of what was wrong with me. The little voice quietly offering up ideas; a brain tumor, cancer, heart attack. I was becoming more and more anxious as the voice had more time to come up with more suggestions to offer up to me.

---

“She had quite a severe panic attack..”

“A what?”

“A panic attack; overwhelming sense of anxiety that triggers the fight or flight response, it overwhelmed her and deprived her of oxygen so she passed out,”

“Why would she have a panic attack?”

“There can be multiple reasons; doing too much at school, caffeine, lack of sleep, bullying….”

“Not Elliot, none of those make sense,”

“Well, whatever the reason, she’s had one. I recommend she stays home from school for a few days to rest. Maybe get her to see a psychologist or therapist…”

I heard my Dad scoff at the other end of the line and then mutter something about coming to pick me up shortly before the line clicked. I felt a sense of guilt pang at me; it was my fault that he had to be dragged away from his work, and not for any good reason like a brain tumor, but because of a silly little panic attack. Why? Why did I have to have one? The nurse gave me a weak, sympathetic smile before disappearing off to her computer screen, leaving me alone with that little voice once again.

It felt like an eternity before Dad showed up; probably continued on with his work and forgot she was sitting there, waiting and stewing in her nerves, wondering when she’d next have a panic attack, but in actuality, it was only but an hour. The car trip home was silent and almost torturous, I managed to squeak out an apology at some point, which he either didn’t hear or chose not to acknowledge, leaving me feeling all the worse for it. Upon arrival home, I darted to my room and felt an overwhelming sense of relief at the comfort of the four walls around me, and that’s how it began. I spent the next few days inside my room, barely coming out and being able to make the excuse of not feeling quite right. I was able to make the excuses until the following week, and then I had none. I dressed in my uniform slowly, the sense of dread and fear growing insidiously inside of me, the little voice inside my head ever present; you’ll have to face everyone. They’ll ask you questions. What if you have another panic attack? What if you vomit everywhere again? My parents found me sitting on the edge of my bed in a cold sweat,

“Alright come on, time to go or you’ll be late,” Dad commanded rather impatiently.

“I…I can’t…” I stammered out. My parents exchanged glances, as if they had expected this,

“You can’t avoid school all the time…” My mum interjected,

“I just, can’t. Please, don’t make me…”

“We’ll take you to the doctors then,” the little voice then added, so you can have a panic attack there too? And they’ll take you to a mental asylum, drug you up, lock you up and throw away the key. What if they do find something else wrong; and you end up terminal and dying? A shiver ran its cold fingers down my spine and I felt the cold dread take hold me again,

“No…no…”

“Well, you can’t stay here. You have to do something,” Dad muttered to me as I avoided his eye contact,

“I can’t go…not today…it’s too much,” It was Mum who lost her patience,

“No, come on. Stop being silly, let’s go,” she grabbed me by my hand and dragged me to my feet. I felt the anxiety overcome me, and the doorway loomed ahead of me. A scream emanated from me, rattling my soul as I tried to pull away from my mum as she pulled me toward the door. My other hand grasped as hers, trying to pry my captured hand free. I became animalistic; kicking and scratching to try and pull myself out of her grasp, while making some unnatural shrieking noise.  I drew blood in the process, whether it was from me or her, I didn’t know. At the threshold of the doorway, I finally managed to pull myself free, scattering to the other side of the room, hunkering down in the corner; crying and bleeding. My parents stared, stunned,

“Please don’t,” I managed to breath out, shakily. My parents left me there, and I stayed.

---

That was two years ago, and not much has changed. I didn’t go back to school, every attempt ended up in the same way with either of us bleeding, and eventually my parents gave up, leaving me to hunker down in my bedroom, and never leave again. I was a prisoner to the fear of another panic attack in a public space, having all eyes on me while I vomited my guts out. I was content and safe in my room. My parents even went a step further and built a granny flat on the back end of their lawn, moving my stuff. It was my first step outside of my room, and it was terrifying, but knowing there was another safe place to go was a saving grace that let me leave. They left me to decorate it as I saw fit, and were deeply disappointed to see me organize it in exactly the same fashion as my old bedroom, with the exception of the mini kitchen and bathroom that was now a part of my bedroom. I felt safe in living in the same; avoiding change as much as I could. And that was how I lived. I didn’t feel like I was missing out, my family visited me, I had my TV and computer and phone, I was content. I was safe from any sort of public panic attack. It was the eve of the second New Year where the void began to open up. I was scrolling through my Facebook feed, watching all the people who used to be part of my life enjoying their holidays in the sun; exploring new places, having adventures and meeting new people, while I stayed hostage in my room to the anxiety that had owned me for too long now.

My parents came over, with sparkling grape juice and food to cook to celebrate the oncoming of the New Year where I made my startling announcement;

“I’m ready,” I declared, “I’m ready to get out of this house and explore the world,” I grinned at my parents. They smiled back at me, a sense of relief painted across their face as they gave each other a sideways glance,

“We’ll help you,” Dad said quietly back “we’ll do this together.”