There are people around me pushing both ways. I'm stuck in the middle and I can't move. Flowing with the traffic of people didn't get me in or out. The people around me start to blur and my focus shifts to getting out. The air is being taken out of my lungs. I need out. I'm going to throw up.

I stop trying. I don't think I'll ever get out. This neverending sidewalk from hell has trapped me. I'm moving aimlessly with the crowd. I know it's no help to push either way. I need a bathroom. I need to sit. I need to breathe.

I'm out of the crowd. I see my friends. It doesn't stop. It's pushing my chest down, my stomach up. I'm looking frantically for a way out. The people are gone; their presence isn't.

"I need a bathroom." They don't understand.

"I need a bathroom." They're not helping.

"I need a bathroom." They'll never understand

A bar. They'll have a restroom.

I'm sitting down. I'm breathing. Nothing's changed. I'm sweating. There are people outside the stall door. People who actually need a toilet. I need space.

Time blurs. Out of the stall, hands washed, I glanced in the mirror and fixed my hair. I walk to a shop. I see my friends. They don't know. I act interested, but I'm not. The pit in my stomach is growing. I'm going to vomit.

We walk. Let's get food. Where should we go? We're close to a lot of restaurants! I don't talk. I don't care. I don't have an opinion. I don't want food.

This looks nice, let's eat here. I am compliant. My face blank, my mouth silent.

"Where's your restroom?"

I run down the stairs. I ignore the lack of toilet paper and hand dryer. I don't mind the grout or mold. I breathe hard. I sweat. I wipe my face. I breathe softer. In the nose, out the mouth. I put my hair up. I breathe long.

I sit at the table. I don't look at anyone. I glance at the menu. Burgers. Wraps. Drinks. I set down the menu. I breathe in sharply.

"I think I need to go home. I don't feel good." Feel better! There's a station nearby.

I'm up. I'm on a mission. I'm walking briskly. I look 45 degrees down and in front of me. I don't look up. I don't make eye contact. I don't see anyone. They all blur past me. I breath heavy, sharply, quickly. Tears stream from my eyes. I pretend they're not there. I feel nothing but pressure on my entire body.

There's no relief. The station. The escalators. The train. The stairs. The second train. It blurs together, but I see every detail. I dart the opposite way of traffic. I take the other exit. I'm going to throw up.

I'm almost there. I'm almost to safety.

I'm in the door. I'm in the apartment. I'm in my room. I collapsed on my bedroom floor.

I breathe sharply, wheezing and coughing.

The tears roll off my face and splash on floor, but I'm not crying.

My heart races as if I've just run a marathon.

I've lost.

Again.