Ocd love story by corey ann haydu6/29/2023 ![]() ![]() So I sit next to the guy gasping for air I find his ear and whisper into it. And this is something I know everything about: I’ve just been lucky enough to come up with ways to stop my panic attacks before they happen. The short gasps turn into longer, more strained inhales, and the poor guy having the attack is choking on his own breath. It’s coming from somewhere just to my left, so I use that as a kind of lighthouse to find my way out of the thick of the crowd. ![]() ![]() It’s the strained, superfast pace of a panic attack. Then I hear a familiar noise, a rhythm I know well. And for a moment the sounds of classmates cackling and tumbling over each other and screaming in fake fear take over. ’Cause the second the lights and music cut out I realize how disgusting the smell in the gym is. Maybe it’s true what they say about being blind: Your other senses get stronger. There is a hit of silence, like a preparatory inhale, and then chaos. Electricity must be out all over the town. I go to dances at Smith-Latin Boys’ Academy two, maybe three times a year, but nothing like this has ever happened before. So when the power goes out, I don’t do much of anything except try to avoid the horny high school guys trying to feel up girls in the dark. LUCKY FOR ME, I DON’T get panicky in small dark spaces or anything. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |