The year they turned thirteen, the three of them experienced true cruelty. This was the year Dani started getting bullied.
"Come on, Dani! Tell us what's wrong!" Beckett said. He and Myles were sitting outside the girls bathroom at school, trying to reason with Dani, who was crying hysterically. This was huge, because Dani was exceedingly tough. The last time they had seen her cry was when she had broken her arm falling out of a tree when they were eight.
"No. Go away!" She cried. Myles sighed.
"Dani, we are your best friends. We are not leaving you."
"Yes! Please! Just go!"
"No!" Myles cried back, astonished at the fact that he was actually yelling. Finally, the bathroom door opened, and there stood Dani. Myles and Beckett gasped simultaneously.
Dani was covered in bruises. She had cuts all over her arms and legs. And written on her forehead in sharpie, for the whole world to see, was the word 'gay'. Beckett clenched his fists.
"Who?" Myles asked, so angry that he was unable to form complete sentences.
"I don't know." She said, miserably. "It was a lot of people. The only people I recognized were Tanner and Lindsay." Her legs, probably weak and sore from what had happened, buckled at the knees. Myles and Beckett rushed forward, and supported her. The secretary was very inclined to let them go home after she saw Dani. The next day, a picture of Lindsay appeared in everybody's email. Her hair was in curlers-who used those anymore?- and her face, which was covered in pimples, was coated with some green stuff. And Tanner called out sick from school. It was later discovered that somebody had hacked his facebook account and written some very . . . Interesting . . . things. Including his secret crush. But they retaliated. Dani got beat up daily now. And her hair, which she had grown almost to her waist, was chopped off near her chin one evening, when she was ambushed on the way home from the public library. A picture of her face when somebody cut her hair was later posted on every social media possible. They put gum down her shirt and in her hair, and they threw food at her. She started eating in the library after that. It became their safe place. She would get to school early, and hide there until the bell rang, with Myles and Beckett. They all ate lunch there, and stayed there for nearly an hour after school each day. Then Myles and Beckett protected her on the way home. Finally, eighth grade passed, and summer came. They had a happy summer. Dani went kn her first roller-coaster, which was interesting.
See, Beckett made Myles go on, so Myles made Dani go on. All three of them were seated, with lap bars across their lapd, when Dani suddenly said
"Myles? I don't want to do this anymore."
"Well, it's a little too late for that." He said. The rollercoaster began it's ascent.
"Myles!" She , the roller coaster reached the top.
"MYLES!" She screamed as they plummeted. And, though she was not consciously aware of it, she was hanging on to Myles for dear life. However, Myles was very aware. When they finally got off she climbed out with shaky legs.
"I hate you." She said. Myles smirked.
"No, you don't." He and Beckett said simultaneously.
"I know."
She started high school, and the bullying was finally over. But Dani never forgot her eighth grade year.
She developed a panic disorder. Often, for no apparent reason, she would suddenly have a panic attack. Myles and Beckett had learned what to do, but it still scared them each time it happened. She once put in writing her experience, after having a panic attack one day.
Something triggered it. I don't know what. There was some kind of buildup. I tried to stop it, to force the panic back down, but I couldn't. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I could barely breath. I was suddenly irrationally terrified. I longed to scream, to cry out, but my body betrayed me. I longed to cling to something, anything, to stop the fear, to stop the hallucinations, to make my body work. But all I could do was lay there, immobilized, mute, and helpless. Another surge of fear overcame me. But this time, it was different.
"Something's coming. Something's coming to kill me. And all I can do is lay here." I couldn't scream for anyone to help me, I couldn't move in any way to get away from whatever I sensed coming. I summoned up all my courage, and blinked. My vision blurred. I looked around the room in a hurried panic. My sense of fight or flight had been stopped, I was in a state of freeze. I could no longer pick out a coherent thought. All I knew was terror. I knew this would be a major panic attack. If you really want, I can describe the level of panic I had . . .
Imagine you are standing there, frozen, watching the world crumble and fall apart. Shatter. Go to pieces. Everything you've ever loved, everything you've ever held dear, gone. Just like that. You'll never see it again, so there's no use in wishing for it. You can't say a single word. You can barely breathe. You can't even scream. And you're so scared, so completely terrified, that not being able to scream is the ultimate torture. There is no animal or human there to comfort you. Nothing you hold dear, to hold onto as the world crumbles in front of you. You can't do anything but stand there and watch, trapped in a glass box, watching the world end. People call out to you, cry out for you to help them, but you can't. All you can do is watch as they fall, to their doom, never to be seen the box shatters, plunging you into a deep abyss. Into Hell.
All this in the first ten minutes.
After that, imagine you are in your own personalized Hell. Every demon you've ever encountered, or feared encountering, comes up to greet you personally. Most know you by name, and all know your weaknesses. Your greatest fears. Every single one. And except for them, you are completely alone. Just you and your fear. And the hours stretch on. Time is fluid. You could be there for minutes, or for an eternity. You can't tell. New terrors approach you all the time. And all you can do is bear it. Each demon has a different form of torture. And each demon knows exactly how to make you fear them. And, just like when you were in the glass box, you can't move. You can't speak. You can't breathe. To scream would be a luxury, a relief. But you are doomed to keep that scream inside of you, until the torture finally ends
Okay, I know this is my second character to have a panic disorder. But i've always been fascinated with the idea. And I know I use the same description, but my friend gets panic attacks. She helped me to write this little blurb. I'm hoping to raise awareness, to show people that this actually happens. Then, maybe, they'll be a little more considerate. Maybe then, they'll stop hating on people for things that aren't true, or things they can't control . . .