Missed a beat.

People have bad days, bad hair days, and even horrible days, but right now I'm having a bad stress day.

As I sit here right now, I'm conscious of my heart beating much faster than it should be. There is a deep tension in my body that returns in seconds no matter how many times I breathe deeply and relax; I feel it most in my shoulders, where I habitually feel all my emotion. My pulse is constricted in my forehead, my chest is tight. My breaths are shaky and far from uniform in length, but they're the best I can do- I'd be forgetting to breath at all were it not for the years of yoga I've done.

My mood crashed around twenty minutes ago. I tried to nurse myself back to a decent mental state for about fifteen, but sometimes this mood, this place is a lot easier to wrestle my way out of than other times. It's seven P.M. I'd been anxious all day, and exposed to a couple things that usually cause me to panic. I was proud of my composure this morning in my apartment when the building's fire alarm rang; now, I'm half-convinced this feeling is punishment for my hubris. When I realized I couldn't handle it on my own, I called my best friend, but I got her voicemail. I am home alone.

I sit half-slumped on the couch, legs at odd angles for balance, my shoulderblades and the back of my head heavy against the fake leather for support. My eyes are on the ceiling. Because it's happened before, I know that I'm in danger of getting dizzy if I try to straighten up. There's an unbroken quiet here, but the slightest sound might make me flinch, which looks pitiful, and the wrenching sensation in ribcage, throat-heart, gut and soul is too awful to risk. I don't half doubt that it's possible to literally be frightened to death.

I have no brother, no sister. I especially have no mother. I have a father, so I ludicrously imagine him out in the hallway, guarding the door with a gun he no longer owns. But it's my best friend I imagine is with me, beside me, stroking my hair in a gesture of calming affection. This scenario, at least, is realistic. I would trust her with my throat in her hands; I don't allow most people to even sit close to me. So maybe it's wrong to say I have no sister.

I give up on deep breathing. Exhale, sit there for five seconds with my lungs empty of air. During that intermission I tell myself: the psycho bitch is halfway across the country and I have a knife. I breathe in twice, pause again and add: I will ensure she doesn't get my new address. Breath, breath, silence: I'll be strong enough to beat her up soon anyway. Breathe, breathe, pause and think nothing. Then I lose control and hear myself wonder, Are we all just trying to outrun our parents?