“ I was sixteen, and I honestly believed I was due a love story. ”
I want the world, I think. Even if it scares me.
~ Sara Barnard
I decide this is just A Bad Day. We all get them, because grief doesn't care how many years it's been.
And then it happens. The panic. It's slow at first, creeping through the cracks in my thoughts until everything starts to feel heavy. It builds; it becomes something physical that clutches at my insides and squeezes out the air and the blood.
Panic attacks are a lot like being drunk in some ways, you lose self-control. You cry for seemingly no reason. You deal with the hangover long into the next day.
