Panic

Content warning: this piece discusses themes of trauma. 

‘See you later, Olivia!’ I said, leaving my friend’s house for a band rehearsal. 

Recently, a lot of new construction work has popped up in the area. Almost everywhere you look, something old has been taken down, making room for the new. I believe it’s best to combine the past and future. The past is where we came from, but we must keep moving forward; otherwise, we’re stuck, repeating old patterns, stuck in continuous cycles of pain.

I started towards the long path towards the band rehearsal building. It’s a small building and has stood there for decades. When you walk in, you can feel the history. Everyone who rehearsed here, everyone who first discovered their passion for music, the good, the bad. It holds thousands of memories. The first time I entered, with my precious flute at my side as it sat comfortably in its case, it took my breath away. I was in awe of everything the building must have seen, the beginners it housed until they left to become professionals. 

However, this time felt different. I haven’t been sleeping lately, you see. Nightmares have blazed through my mind for weeks on end. They remind me of past horrors, things I’ve tried so hard to forget. 

Grief and trauma have a way with people, wouldn’t you agree? I mean, it’s never just harmlessly sitting there, at the back of your mind. It’s there, always there. It waits for the right moment to strike out and pull you back to the moment that changed everything. I understand it becomes a way to keep us safe, but after so long, you just want to move on. You just want peace, you want freedom. 

I walk past another construction site when it hits me. 

In an instant, everything breaks away from view. The sidewalk, illuminated by now-swirling lights, collapsed in front of me. Suddenly, I was surrounded by four white walls, reflecting the fluorescent lights into my eyes. A smell I couldn’t quite place flooded my senses, and I find myself reeling back into something sharp. 

My heart was racing, my stomach was becoming more and more knotted, and my chest burned as my lungs were being drained of air. As I struggled to understand what was happening, I felt something piercing the flesh on the back of my legs and arms. Blood trickled down, but I could barely register it because of everything that was going on. 

As my breath and heart rate quickened, the fluorescent lights became blinding. I could smell the scent of anti-sceptic - that’s what it was. I saw outlines of beds. Beds with white sheets that felt like paper towels. The more that I could make out, the more I felt the pain in my chest spreading, sweat running down my back. I feel dizzy. What’s going on? 

Scenes moved in and out of focus. Unmade beds of white, tubes, needles, rooms with doors that took away your privacy, white walls, lights that prevent any solace, blinking lights on the walls that sound a piercing alarm, scents of blood mixed with anti-sceptic. Sights of people in blue scrubs and suits come toward me. He pulled me in closer, tighter. My chest grew knotted as it raced in its place. 

‘You’ll be fine,’ I heard as something stung into my arm. Within moments, the sting spread into my veins, turning everything it touched to ice. Then, before I could protest any further, everything went black.

A scream leapt out of my throat. I found myself sobbing. Curled up on a hard, cold surface. Drained. Tired. Terrified. Am I going insane? Where am I? Am I dying? Is this what dying feels like? What if no one finds me? What if I die out here, wherever I am? How did I get here? Oh my gosh, what if I’m back? What if I’m back in the hospital? What if I’m sick again? What if… what if… what if…

‘Hey, Nina, are you okay?’ I heard. A hand touched my shoulder, and the fog slowly dissipated. I find someone, Sam I think is their name, standing over me, a look of concern on their face. Getting to my feet, I find I’m shaking and covered in sweat, my lavender hair stuck to my forehead. 

‘Someone said they saw you here a minute ago, I thought I’d check on you - oh my gosh, girl, that looks like it hurt.’ Their kind eyes stared at me, an anxious mess. I look down and noticed the cuts all down my legs and arms. As I scan around me, I realise I must have fallen into the chain-link fence of one of the construction sites. 

‘I think there’s a first aid kit somewhere in the back room, come with me. We’ll get you fixed up.’ They held my arm and led me to where the first aid kit must have been. But wait, how did they find me? Why did they, of all people, come to find me? Maybe this is a trap. I need to get away. 

They lead me into a back room (shit, this is it for me). Finding a little red bag in a cupboard, they set down a first aid kit and pull out some plasters and anti-sceptic (this is a trap). I back up (what’s going on?). How are they so calm? (I need to get out. I need to get out. I need to get out, right now). 

‘I’ll leave this here for you, okay? I’ll let our conductor know you won’t be coming to rehearsal. I’ve also set out a mug in case you need a hot drink or something.’ They turned and left through the door we just came through. 

I feel a lump rise in my throat. Why am I like this? What’s wrong with me?

Just then, Olivia came through the door (is she part of the trap?). 

‘Nina, are you okay? I got a call from Sam,’ (so she does know them). ‘They said you needed a bit of help. What happened?’ she said as she looked at my face, then the cuts that were still slowly bleeding. 

‘I don’t know,’ I sob, my voice barely a whisper. 

‘That’s okay. I’m here now. We can get through this together,’ (can I trust her? Will we get through this?). 

Olivia got up, walked over to the first aid kit and started patching me up. She talked to me about nothing in particular, trying to distract me. My breathing was fast and my chest was so tight I thought I’d choke. She looked up and smiled, a warm, knowing smile. She said, ‘Come over here,’ and led me to the sink. Turning the tap on, she made sure that it was on the coldest it could be and told me to hold my wrists under it. 

‘It’s to help shock your brain back into the present. It might sound a bit odd, but trust me, it works.’ 

Reluctantly, I push my hands under the icy water and, slowly, felt my heart rate and breathing slow. I focused on the freezing droplets as they washed over my wrists. Thinking of the sensations. The water. The cold. I’m here. I’m present. I’m back. 

‘Did that help?’ 

‘It did. Thank you.’ I said, still trying to calm myself.

‘You’re not alone, Nina. You have me, you have so many people who care about you. I know you’ve gone through some really bad shit, but you don’t have to go through it alone.’

Once my breathing slowed to a normal rate, Olivia guided me to a seat and sat a mug of hot chocolate down on the table in front of me. I looked up at her. 

‘We’ll get through this,’ she said. We sipped on our drinks and, for the first time that evening, I felt safe.