Paralyzed

A hot breath creeps down my back. My chair is shoved and kicked. I feel like I’m falling over. Slowly the world starts to fade away. The voice inside saying “this isn’t real” becomes quieter and quieter until it’s replaced by hatred. “You think you’re special?!” “Huh!” “Tell me what you think!” The room is spinning now. I’ve got no control over my thoughts. I don’t realize how hard I’m biting my lip until the taste of iron enters my mouth. I feel helpless. Paralyzed. Like I am bird who flew the wrong direction during migration. Stuck on a path I didn’t know I was going down, unable to stop to collect my thoughts.

I sit at the table nervous to say anything. That little voice of insecurity is stronger than ever. It overpowers me like an unexpected wave crashing on the sand. I merely sit. I listen. The hatred, it builds. The anxiety, it builds. My breathing becomes shallower. Somehow, I am not on the inside. Somehow, I have been forgotten. I am not interesting, nor useful. And still I sit. Two hands placed on the table. My feet planted on the bottom bar of my the stool. Maybe they will go away. Maybe that voice will finally come back, telling me it wasn’t real. Or maybe it will continue. And instead of progress I will fester in the light of misplaced anger.

This experience was so meaningful to me because of the anxiety I had going into it. I was so scared I almost didn’t participate, but with the encouragement from a chaperone, I followed through. I don’t have all the words to describe exactly what it was like — but I think this is an alright start.

Mollie