Worded Error

Hello.

Update, I've been having a couple of near episodes these few days. They're not big enough to crumple me but neither are they small enough for me to ignore. I haven't have had one of those in quite a while, have I? Well, I suppose it's time to remedy that.

What better way to do it with a major trigger?

With a direct link to the place where everything started, no less.

For anyone who isn't familiar with the term "triggers", I'll explain it as simple as I could. Triggers are mainly anything that could shock someone with...mental illness, shall we say, back to their worst memories. They're basically small things that remind you of the events that caused you the illness in the first place. It could be a song, a word, a sentence, a face, an object, an event, etc etc etc.

Triggers send them back when wars are happening, guns being shot, screams being drawn.

For me, they send me back to her hands.

First things first, is everyone aware of the various types of club associations? Yknow, Scouts, Red Crescent, Police Scouts, Fire Brigades, etc etc. Those kinda things.

As universe would have it, my course have made it compulsory for us to join at least one of these associations, and I am not happy with that. I have to, else I'll fail, but I'll suffer greatly through it.

Even more, as life would have it, spots were cleared and I am left with no option but the Fire Brigade. So, there you have it. I reluctantly joined the Fire Brigade association and will have to stick with it until 3 terms of my degree study. That means 47 weeks.

Yay.

Yesterday, we had our first meeting on the marching field. You can guess what it is they require of us there.

To march.

Before I go further, I suppose I should re-tell the beginning. Else the story would be confusing.

2009, I was in Red Crescents at the old cluster school of SMIP. By then, I was already showing the first major symptoms of Post Traumatic, Ironically, I had my first major panic attack during a marching training.

I've always had loose limbs. Like I'm too lazy to even stand straight. That continually annoys my Commanders to no end. The shouts that were directed to me deafened my ears and brief touches to angle my limbs burned my skin. Any sliver of laser-focused attention on me made me broke a sweat.

Before long, I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

can't breathe.

Can't breathe.

IT BURNS.

BURNS.

BURNS.

BURNS.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

PAIN.

I don't expect you to understand. You can't. 

Either way, during all the struggle to get my heart pumping blood again -I remember little 13 yrs old me just wondering "what's wrong?" "what happened?" "why did it hurt?" "why did I choke?" "Was I dying?" and my only concern, "I hope they won't tell Mom and Dad."  - when I opened my eyes again, I was in the Girls' dorm's infirmary. I've never been in here before.

Just as I woke up, looking around me in wonder and befuddlement, a classmate came visiting. She greeted me cheerfully and sat beside me. I turned to her. "What happened to me? Why am I here and not in my dorm?" I asked.

She frowned, confused. "You don't remember? You had some kinda accident during the marching training. My squad was right next to yours. I saw the Commanders singled you out from your squad and privately trained you on the side. They were directing you when you crouched down and held your head between your knees and rocked back and forth. I think you were crying." she explained, wistfully.

I tilted my head, remembering nothing of the sort. "Then? How did I get here?" I asked again.

She leaned towards me, resting her elbows near my legs. "One Commander took pity on you and carried you to the resting section. She looked really gentle when she hauled you upright and then lied you on your back. I went to you as soon as my squad was allowed break and, man, you scared me to shit." she chuckled, though the sound was nowhere near humorous.

I gave her a look, imploring her to continue. She gulped and looked away.

"You were...unconscious. But your eyes were open. They just looked....glassed over. You were having trouble breathing, but it was like you weren't even there. It was..scary." she whispered the last part.

I didn't know what to say. So I stared forward.

She glanced at me. "The Commander asked me if I know you and I told her that we're classmates. She helped me carry you here because your dorm is on the first floor and we couldn't carry you up the stairs." she said.

I remember thinking, "I wanna go up to my dorm. Then I can see Qie and Azwa."

I proceeded to joke away her fears. After all, what else can I do?

"So, when can I get out?" I said.

She hummed, thinking. "The warden came over, said you can leave as soon as you feel well enough to do so." she stopped, pursing her lips. "I think you should stay here a lil' bit longer though. You look pale as corpse. And your skin matches the temperature too." she joked lightly.

I nodded absently. "If you say so. Will you tell Faqihah and Azwa where I am, please? I don't want them to look for me in my dorm." I said. She nodded, a smile on her lips.

"I'll tell 'em, no worries. You just rest here, okay?" she patted my hand, flinching at the contact. I suppose I really am cold.

I nodded. "Nowhere else to go, right?" I smiled. She waved as she exits the door, closing it softly behind her. I am alone again.

I stayed there till night, sleeping the confusion away. Then, it happened again.

This time, Qie and Azwa were with me, and at the back of my mind, I thought I saw tears on their faces. I must be hallucinating. We were chatting away as usual, when the harsh stab of pain lurched in my ribs. I doubled over, coughing harshly. It sent them in a panic mode, and Qie immediately have Azwa call the warden while she stayed with me.

I couldn't breathe again, and the burning pain was back.

My sight was inky black.

There were frantic voices and shouts of my name all around. I couldn't see them. I don't want to.

I just want to breathe again.

Suddenly, a strong pair of arms enveloped me from behind, going under my arms and hauled me upright. The sudden motion had me convulsing, twitching madly all over the bed. Someone was pressing my legs together very tightly I could feel it to my femurs. 

I feel constricted to an experiment lab cot.

Slowly, my sights cleared, and I could register my classmates' faces drawn in fear and worry by the door. They dared not to step in. A warm pressure was holding my hand, and I looked down to Qie's tear-streaked face. The warden was the one holding my legs, and the one who was holding me upright was the male warden of the boys' dormitories. How humiliating.

They set me down very gently, Qie quickly taking the wet cloth Wa handed her to wipe my face. I wondered how did I look back then? Surely like a rabid dog had just taken a piss to it.

I slipped back to dreamland, Qie's soothing voice drifting in my head. Later, I learned that she had been singing to me, all the while I was unconscious. She never let go of my hand.

We had school the next day, which I insisted I attend. I couldn't risk a truant card. Qie and Wa never let me out of their sights whenever they could, and my classmates were especially courteous that day.

I sighed a relieved sigh when the day was over.

Things were back to normal.

Or so little ole me thought.

Yesterday, on the marching field, it was that day all over again. I was 13 again. The Commanders are angry at me again. I will fail again. Please don't touch me. Please. Please don't single me out.

Please don't shout at me. Please don't speak to me. Please don't pay attention to me. Please.

I tried to not be 13 years old me. I tried not to make her mistakes.

I stood up straight as a ramrod.

I raised my knees to my chest.

I stomped real hard.

I ran as hard as my heart allowed.

Yet when the heartbeat sped up and vomit rose, I wanted to cry.

I wanted to hold out. I want to push. PUSH.

I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine.

I'M FINE.

But when my classmate told me I don't look so good, I had to stop.

I can't have an episode here. In front of these people. I can't have that again.

So I grudgingly asked to be pulled out. As much as my stubborn side is railing at me for that decision, my humiliation to be pulled back into that memory is bigger.

I'm such a fucking weakling.

Admit it. You thought it too.