An hour to the new year, and I’m in the train station.
Trying not to throw up. Trying not to think about meeting new people. Trying not to think of having to see people I hate.
One of the station doors is propped open, but there isn’t a single person inside. The station, normally bustling, is empty, with just the buzz of the lights to fill the empty space. Not even a waiting taxi outside. Everything sterile as a hospital. I wanted to take a picture, but I could barely move, so I pulled out my notebook and managed to scribble two words:
Another debilitating panic attack.
Pat and Jen’s party was postponed, so I had already decided to stay home. It was ten when Aaron called me to go over1.
Halfway through the bus ride, I was filled with a sudden rush of anxiety. Maybe it was the people on the bus, or the fact that I wasn’t mentally prepared to be at a party. I couldn’t breathe, yet I was hyperventilating.
I had to get off at the next stop, which turned out to be the train station. As I sat inside, the anxiety would pass in a couple minutes, then come back in a wave as strong as before. I called Aaron and told him I was going to head home, but he insisted, so he sent Rob and Doug to pick me up.
I arrived drained and exhausted. It was a hellish night.
I can only hope the rest of the year goes better than this.