Less than ten minutes after wrapping up a great day of work, I’m diving for my Clonazepam. No warning. Consuming my prescribed one milligram should be simple, but it’s not. I’m seeing double. My body is tense and shaking. A high pitch ringing fills my ears. Thanks to some forethought both my medicine and a cup of water sit on the ottoman in front of me. Before long, and after some trouble, a little green pill marked TEVA is working its way into my system. I should start feeling better soon.

Now, my phone. I note the time as it turns on. 5:02 p.m. Cassandra gets off work soon. I try calling her. Something is happening in my chest. It feels like my heart is going to explode. Before the phone starts ringing, my body flashes with heat. I’m sweating all over. The edge of my vision is getting fuzzy, I’m blacking out.

I’m scared. I head for the front door because I’m home alone. Our apartment building increases my chances of running into someone who will probably do what I should: call 911. Instead, I’m calling my girlfriend. My first step brings with it the realization that I have no strength in my legs. I fall. I try another, but every step is the same.

I make it just a few steps before she answers. I’m lucky, she works less than two miles away. She says something, but I’ve already forgotten what. She sounds happy. I’m about to blindside her. “Where are you?”, I ask desperately. I’m falling over our apartment, she must hear it. She says she is close by and asks what’s wrong. I’m despondent. “I need your help. I’m having a panic attack.” She says she’s just down the street.

Suddenly, she bursts into the apartment. It startles me awake, although I’m not sure if I was ever asleep. She rushes over. I remember making it to the door, but for some reason I’m back on the couch. I don’t remember how I got here. My right arm is lying out to my side, holding my phone. It’s still connected to hers. I’m so sleepy.

She says I’m pale. My stomach aches; I’m going to throw up. I need help getting over to the bathroom. She’s tiny, but strong. On our way I peer over her head to see myself in the mirror. She’s right, I am pale. My lips have a white and blue tint. I drop to my knees in front of the toilet, ready to vomit, but nothing comes up.

I can hear sweat dripping off of my forehead into the water. Nothing is happening. I sit up onto the toilet. All my clothing clings to me. I lean forward with my head in my hands and my elbows on my knees. The pain in my chest is slowly fading, but the drowsiness lingers. After rinsing off my face, I head back to the couch, still shaken up.

I don’t know what’s going on, but answers are on their way.