Who: Ashleigh Spinnet (narrative). What: Panic attack. When: Very early hours of Monday 6th June. Where: Ashleigh's flat. Rating: Trigger warnings for anxiety and semi-suicidal thoughts.
Ashleigh woke to total darkness with her heart already racing and her breath coming in short, shallow gasps. She sat bolt upright, not feeling the blankets that fell off her as she pulled her knees up to her chest and flexed her feet against the mattress. Her empty stomach ached as sharper pains shuddered up her spine to spread across the back of her head. It was too dark to see, but she could feel the chill pouring off one wall, reaching for her, trying to pull her back down. Her fingers, when she pressed them to the hollow of her throat, were too cold to feel her pulse.
Every rib seemed to vibrate with the beats of her heart, too fast to be healthy, too fast to sustain. Was she going to die? Here, alone in the dark? For a moment that seemed to last an hour, she thought it wouldn't be the worst thing. The cold intensified and Ashleigh tucked her feet more firmly still against her body. There was no help coming. There was no way to escape, no point in reaching out for anybody. She knew all the things that helped with her anxiety – all the breathing and relaxation exercises – but the darkness was suffocating and she couldn't get enough air in her lungs to think, let alone act.
Tears slipped down her face as she squeezed her arms around her knees, heart beat pounding her body from all sides now, jarring every bone and joint. The darkness was never going to end and she was never going to feel warm. She curled in on herself in the middle of the bed, every muscle so tight it hurt, and cried for hours, until her head throbbed and her throat cracked.
It wasn't until after dawn, when the sun made itself known even through her thick curtains, that Ashleigh remembered her wand, on her bedside table where she always kept it.