Not just an act

this is a story about a girl like me who gets frequent panic attacks, but no one believes that they are real.

Not Just an Act

Heavy velvet drapes watched me. Mahogany chairs with ivory accents watched me. Marble floors watched me. Carefully made, oriental rugs watched me.Hand crafted statuettes of playing children watched me. Every sparkling gem on my indigo gown watched me. Some gaze managed to bore holes in the back of my neck. I felt the heat of nerves pulsing through my veins. My hands shook violently, sending my entire body into uncontrollable tremors. I turned in circles, terrified, looking for the pair of eyes that stabbed into me. I covered my ears, wondering who was screaming. Only when I realized that it was me did the noise stop. I held myself on the floor, allowing my body to be absorbed into the thick fabric of my skirts. My heart threatened to stop itself short and I almost wished it would.

I heard pounding and I wasn't sure if it was my own heart beating it's way across the floor. "Michelle" my name was whispered in my ear.That's all I heard, my name, but I didn't hear a voice so I assumed I imagined it.

"Michelle what's wrong?" this time I heard the voice. Low, rhythmic chords formed David. I then knew it was his hand that touched my shoulders. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I heard myself screaming again. Panic welled up inside of me and overtook the space previously occupied by my good judgement. I took hold of David's hand and pulled it underneath myself, digging my fingernails into his smooth flesh. He easily pulled his hand from me without a single outcry. I thought I saw a splash of red on his fingers, but it didn't bother me then. I felt him take a hold of my shoulders and forcefully pull me to a standing position. I only understood who he was in short bursts, so at times I thought he was burning me, stabbing me, killing me. 

"Michelle." this time, he said it sternly, obviously losing patience with me. He put a firm hand on each side of my neck. I stood still finally. I stood quiet finally. I stood calm finally. "You have ten minutes" he whispered, gentility seeping back under his tongue. " Clean up" he bowed his head and did not look up until I replied.

"Yes, yes of course." I said slowly, quietly. I turned toward the basin by the wall below the mirror. I stared t my reflection before I realized I could move. Emptiness. My eyes were glazed over with stiffened tears, my body somewhat limp and sore from squeezing myself so tightly. My heart seemed to beat too slow now, ever heavy. My throat was tight from screaming and and stiff from crying. I shifted loose blonde curls back to their original places. I took the wash rag from the hook on the gold basin to remove stray powders. I looked down to straighten my gown, shifting ruffles left and right. I had torn a jewel from the design on my empire waist so I began to peel away other stones to make the hole seem less out of place. 

Panic has always my worst enemy. It dictates every move I make, sneaking up on me when it is least expected. It attacks at strange times. Sometimes it wakes me up in the night and draws me out of bed. 

"It is time, Michelle." David's voice stopped my thoughts. I lifted my chin, hoping to look more confident. He began to usher me towards the great mahogany doors.

" How do I look?" I asked David, hoping that everything I had just done was not apparent on my face.

"Ready" he replied plainly. I lifted the bottom of my gown and stepped through the doors as he opened them.

"Michelle Spade" my name was called and I forced a proud smile. I walked through an aisle to the stage as an orchestra played. I confidently floated up three of the five steps that led to the stage at the front of the room. I called out to the people in the rows of seats before me and to those in the balconies.

"This is to be dedicated to my mother" The clarity and strength in my own voice surprised me. I took one more step up the turned. the end of my ball gown lagged in this turn and I could see it before me. It was twisted about me at the hips in the manner of a waterfall. I reached down to a clasp on my waist and released it. To the astonishment of the crowd,the skirt of the ballgown fell away, heavy indigo melting to the ground. I was left wearing a thin, silk, white skirt attached to my top piece. The gems still remained, twinkling under stage lights. I heard excited gasps as a charged audience admired my new dress. Two girls in small, white lace frocks appeared and pinned my log curls into a tight hairstyle. Not a single strand left the bun. They gracefully glided off the stage and I took the final stair.

Every light went black, allowing me to disappear for a few brief moments. It was sudden when bright light illuminated my figure, posing on stage. Looked down on my arms, crossed in front of me as gentle piano music slid in and out of my ears. It was only a few leaps and turns before solid crescendos sent me flying into the air. Violins had me turning in circles, over and over. My legs were pulled along by beats on heavy drums. 

Hardwood floors seemed soft and harsh lights seemed warm and welcoming. Music faded and left me in a comfortable sitting position on the floor. The same two girls that had pinned my hair up before scampered cross the floor now to release my curls. When the lights snapped off again, the three of us disappeared backstage.

One of the girls wrapped a warm fur over my shoulders. The other put a bottle of water in my hands. All this happened as I walked. I slid boots over my slippers and kept moving. 

" A magnificent actress." David appeared from a recess in the stone wall. He stopped me in my path with one angry sentence.

"What do you mean?" I asked, terrified of his expression. 

"That display in the lobby" He shouted in my ear. "all a performance." I shook my head but his disappointed look stopped me. "One cannot do what you just did in the same hour that they weep and scream on the floor like a child." I began to cry again, tears dripping down my face. The one man I thought would understand me is just like all the others in the world. " No longer will I be your sympathetic fool"

-Gracious

Author's Note

This is really a story about a girl with a panic disorder. It happens to even confident people and others really don't understand that you really can be calm and confident one second and crying on the floor in another.

Reviews

[Jayne Anne]

Hmmm, I thought this was interesting. I really like the way you narrate and you transmitted her panic in the beginning. I was only a little confused when she went on stage to perform. I think she was dancing, but had to read it twice to be sure. It could use a little tightening on the details to make it a clearer. But overall, it kept me interested. Thank you.

[Gracious]

Thank you so much! I'll definitely go back and rewrite a few parts in the middle :) Much appreciated.

[MandaMoonFlowerExpressi..]

This is a very impressive and a great write. Inspiring for me to try and write a story. :) Look forward to reading more.

[Gracious]

thank you so much :)

[RachelRedstone]

I like how its written, and your right. Panics happen to everyone. But I don't understand what happened near the end. Her skirt falls down and then... its back up? Did it never fall down in the first place and it was her imagination?

[Gracious]

No, her skirt never came back up. Two girls were kind of her assistants and they pinned up her hair in the beginning after she let down the skirt of her ball gown. This was to reveal a smaller skirt that was more easily used for her dancer's purposes. Then, when she finished dancing, her assistants let her hair down again, but the skirt was not a part of the end of the story.

[RachelRedstone]

oh, thank you

[Loll]

I liked your story. The narration stays interesting and you clearly know how to describe the surrounding environment and pay a lot of attention to detail. I see you write poems as well and I could tell that from the very first lines of the story as the repetitive rhythym seemed very poetic.

I understand your motivation was to describe both how a panic attack feels and how others don´t always understand the severity of the disorder? That in mind it would be interesting to hear more about the personal feelings related to panic attacks (if you ever choose to write about the same subject again). This could be for example a flash back to the previous panic attacks or maybe hint to what causes them or how they affect her persona. All in all something in addition to the well described physical symptoms (this could also reveal a lot more about the woman´s character).

Hopefully you´ll write more on the same topic!

[Gracious]

thank you very much. this has definitely inspired me to write more with which your suggestion will be very helpful. stay awesome!

[Gre7g Luterman]

Wow! Quite impressive writing. There's no doubt that you have skill.

Not my type of story, but I can't fault you for that. I hope to read something from you that's more along the lines of my own tastes.

[Gracious]

Thank you so much! I really hope that I can eventually post something that's more your genre :) stay awesome!