The night was still young. Stars shined brightly like paper lanterns floating against a dark pond. The moon was not its fullest tonight; it waned like a small crescent of a woman’s baby bump. Smoky, thin clouds wrapped around the moon as though the woman was cradling her stomach, patiently waiting to complete her cycle. The sight was ruined once I lit one of my Swisher and painted a dull smoke screen over the sky. Nerves were getting to me, especially after hearing that my grandmother’s condition was getting worse. I nearly stopped breathing when her doctor told me that she did not have long to live. It was a miracle that she had the strength to fight to keep her body going in the first place. But I knew that her body was already gone. Her spirit was here, purely because she was worried about me and refused to pass on to an imagined afterlife.
Inhaling the tropical flavor of the swisher through my nostrils, I tried to think about happier things besides the impending death of my grandmother. However, after images of traumatic thoughts and flashes of anxiety, my mind--or rather panic conscience--could not remove the threat from me. Even after all this time, he still had control of me. Anything that happened to me was his fault.
“Fuck…” The anxiety overwhelmed me and I lost control of myself. Sometimes it is hard to explain what one goes through when they are having an anxiety attack, because the severity of it changes drastically. Most of the time I would cry in hysterical fits, cradling myself like an adult baby in the corner; snot rolling from my nose like waterfalls, tears stinging and gluing my eyelashes together. After my body hits its limit with my attack, I close my eyes and forget what happened, confused as to how much time passed. This time was one of the few times where the oxygen did not might make it to my brain. As humans, in the heat of the moment, we do not act rationally. All I wanted to do was feel okay in the wake of my grandmother’s condition, and to make the pain in my chest go away, but difficulty arose. The wrong answer to this problem was rambling through my kitchen for a plastic bag.
“I just want it to stop. I just want it to stop. It hurts. It hurts,” I repeated over in agony as my body shook. My eyes widened with heavy strain, burning from drying tears and newer ones relieving themselves from my eyelids. The bag also shook in my hands, the handles barely holding onto me as it wrinkled more at my savage attempt to calm myself. My breaths exited faster and harder, scratching my throat in a rough escape. Delusion hit me harder and I could no longer wait for my body to stop itself from overheating in panic.
Placing the bag over my head, I tightened the plastic handles around my neck, blocking my vision with black and confining my heated breaths to the product. The lack of air was suffocating. My lungs pleaded for oxygen as the bag quickly began to deny me of life. All I could think of was the need to end my pain as soon as possible, whether it rid me of my human body or my feeble emotions. Awful images shone through my darkness of my bag with memories of abuse from him, love lost, disappointment and finally the last few moments with my ailing grandmother. My body began to twitch more at the struggle, and also by my unwillingness to let go of my grandmother as I refused to live in a world that did not have her in it. Burning agony zipped up my throat, followed by a grotesque taste of acid and salty water. Not able to follow through with my attempt, I turned on my side, the bag sliding off my head, and vomited next to me. I coughed out hoarse breaths in an endeavor to regain composure again. My vision flickered in and out a twilight of black, grey and white, finally attaining the darkened sky of stars. However, my mind did not recover from the lack of oxygen and my head began to spin, forcing my body back to the ground, immobilizing me.
Though my body could not move, my eyes wandered across the vast sky, making a small connection with each yellow dot in silent conversation. I counted them into an endless journey, hoping they would provide me with the answer that I was looking for. With the company of the stars, I enjoyed the silent night before me, though I was undeserving of it after the suicidal fit I just had. But this did not last for long. My phone vibrated next to me, I reached for it hoping it to be from someone important. Only for a second, it was still with reticence. The screen of my phone lit up in a frenzy of text messages.
“Fuck…” It had started again. And once again, he had control over me.
