As I started walking up to the bathroom, it dawned on me that this was my first time going into this bathroom since the year before last, where quite a strong post of mine was written, one of my go-to places I’d hide to have a panic attack if I felt one coming. Out of interesting coincidence, the exact cubicle I’d go in, was out of order. You could look at this two ways. A symbolic representation of being in a better place than before, or a bit weird that I’m talking about a broken down toilet. Whichever way you want to look at it – it brought a particular post to mind which I wrote in that very cubicle…
While sat locked in a toilet cubicle, crying, suffering an anxiety attack, I decide to build up a stream of consciousness to calm me down.
This is a very Hermione Granger thing, an all time low for 12 year olds and everyone knows it won’t go well, I mean she had to face a troll for gods sake, and all I’m facing ultimately is myself. Sadly I don’t have Harry or Ron to save me or comfort me. I’m sat in here waiting for time to pass so I can stop crying and finish my attack in time for my lesson. I’m 19, but I’m still here, literally wanting my mummy, and wanting to teleport home.
But I know it won’t stop. They have been on repeat all morning like a bad song and I’ve avoided most social interaction (apart from regrettably informing the Christian Union that I was an atheist and wouldn’t be suited to their project they wanted me to be a part of) but only because I had to and couldn’t avoid it.
The next worry is I have to go into my lesson today, imagine a weeks worth of studying for this, all gone to waste if I don’t. I can’t stop crying. I just keep crying. Why of all the places, and situations does it have to be now and today. I knew this would happen. I knew it would come for me in my worst moment, just to really take the piss. Can anyone hear me?
Pathetic. This is what 12 year olds do when dealing with nasty comments, problems at home and problems you can’t control. Yet in the same that’s exactly what’s currently happening. My body is under attack, beating myself up with nasty comments and heightening problems that may not even ultimately be problems, yet feel completely out of my control. I can’t win until they decide to stop. And even when they stop, immersing myself back into society acting as if nothing happened becomes the next hurdle.
My smeared makeup, sallow skin and eye bags and looking as well as feeling drained isn’t something easily hidden. Then comes the paranoia of whether people can notice. Can they see me? What must they think when they see me? What if my cover and intention to hide is blown?
And as minutes swift past, here comes the cool down.
I’m not ready to unlock just yet. Wait til the coast is clear.
…Well. At least it’s not a troll, right?