My heart is beating out of my chest. The teacher’s voice is swirling in my ears, nothing making it to my brain. I think I’m dy+ng. Oh god, what if I’m dy+ng? I can’t do this. I’m gonna be sick. I can’t get sick at school!!! I shoot my arm in the air. The teacher must notice my blind panic, because he nods at me, permission to use the bathroom. I dash out of the classroom, somehow making it to the bathroom. It’s the girl’s bathroom, but dysphoria is no match for panic. I slam the door shut of the stall I’ve nicknamed “The Panic Room,” because, well, you can guess why. My breathing slowly calms, my heart realizing I’m okay, I’m safe. I run my hands over the ridges on my arms, I gingerly open the door, before realizing nobody even noticed my fear. I kind of wanted them to notice. I slink out of the bathroom, avoiding the mirror as I splash lukewarm water over my pale hands. The teacher glances at me as I step into the class, closing the door behind me as quietly as possible. I walk to my seat with my head down, slipping under the radar. I gaze out of the window, spring air floating through a crack, the trees outside rustling lightly. I subconsciously lean towards the thick glass, trying to absorb the sun. My ears twitch. Wait. I tentatively reach up, feeling the space above my head. Another phantom shift. I don’t actually have foxlike ears. But I can feel them quivering in the wind. I revel in the feeling for a bit, enjoying this moment of euphoria, my ears standing tall. The rest of the day feels like a meat grinder on my brain. That moment of clarity was drowned in schoolwork, social sh+t, anxiety. When I get home I wave to my mother, close the door to my room, and c+t lines in my thigh, bl+od beading up, trying to break out of this stupor. It doesn’t work, of course. The world is just a dream, passing by faster than I can grab it. I have to get out of here.
tw!!! dysphoria (slight), depression, panic attacks, sh song is dinner is not over by jack stauber
