Daisy.

I’m okay.

I’m okay.

I’m okay.

I released a breath and took in another one, closing my eyes against the bright sun behind my sunglasses. I’m okay. This is okay, I told myself. This is progress. I’m okay. I moved towards the sidewalk, leaving my sparsely furnished home behind as my feet moved forward, carrying me away. This is good. Good. Very good, in fact. This is so good that I should be a little proud of myself. I pushed my sunglasses up my nose, feeling the floral caramel colored shell of it stick to my nose and temples with sweat. I had only been outside for a couple of minutes, but I was so nervous that it wasn’t much of a surprise.

I mumbled, “I’m okay,” under my breath to reassure myself.

I am okay.

I cross the street, staying between the lines for the pedestrians to walk within, mixing in with the crowd. I’m okay. It was okay. Everything was okay. And silly me, I thought it might have actually stayed that way as I walked further into the city, venturing into the downtown, touristy part of the city.

The buildings loomed and rose around me as people milled in and out of them, chattering away without a care in the world. It wasn’t so bad, was it? Well, at first it wasn’t, but at some point it was going to be just too much and I’d end up losing the last shred of flimsy control I had over myself.

I felt my chest grow tight, hands clammy as my breathing picked up a little. People were just everywhere and I felt so uncomfortable. I didn’t like it as much as I thought I would. It didn’t really take me by surprise, but it still made me feel a little off balance. I’m okay, I’m okay—

I’m not okay. It is not okay. I wasn’t right, it wasn’t right, and I just wanted to go home—I needed to go home.

Right.

Now.

My fingers dug into my sweaty palms, short nails leaving half-moon imprints on the skin. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe, only to find that I couldn’t. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t, and with a sickening feeling in my belly, I knew what was going to happen next, which only made me feel worse. I can’t. I can’t have a panic attack. Not now. I can’t. Please, no. Why can’t I breathe? I needed to breathe. I needed to go, but I couldn’t leave until I could breathe. My thoughts raced in this loop until someone jammed into me with their shoulder roughly, almost knocking me over.

“Get out of the way,” the girl spat angrily, lugging a big black backpack on her shoulders. I stammered an awkward, breathless apology, forcing myself to open my eyes to figure out if I could at least recognize where I was. Of course I managed to get completely lost on the one day I feel well enough to go outside.

Anxiety filled me as I looked around the unfamiliar streets, looking for something that could point me in the right direction. Where was I? How had I managed to walk to fast that this happened? After I looked around a little more, I realized that I was near the sports complex, which explained why all these people were milling about in the middle of the day.

My house wasn’t too far away from there, but it was still far enough that I didn’t want to walk. I made my way through the crowd and tried to avoid bumping into anyone else, looking down at the grey concrete beneath my feet. I still couldn’t relax enough to take a few “calming” breaths like Dr. Thredsen would tell me to in his soft monotone, which only made me feel worse. Hurriedly, I approached a bus stop, a simple bench underneath a tree. I sat down underneath the shade, relieved to finally be out of the heat. I pulled my bag onto my lap and crossed my hands over it. I closed my eyes and tried to meditate, like I’m supposed to—he said it would help me relax. Normally, it does, but being out there threw me off and I couldn’t even concentrate enough to attempt it.

I rubbed my wrists against my legs, feeling my body tense up for a second before it finally calmed down and let go, letting my head loll against the tree in relief. I kept rubbing until I spotted the bus, then stood up, shoving my hands into my pockets to grab some loose change. I deposited the dollar and seventy five cents in the small blue box—exact change only (please). I had to find a seat, preferably alone. There weren’t any empty seats, and nervous, I looked around, hoping I won’t have to sit all the way in the back.

There was one seat open after this guy moved over. I walked over quickly as the bus lurched forward and almost fell into the seat, embarrassed. I sat up anxiously, folding my hands in my lap as I set my bag on my lap, fidgeting with the pins, biting my lip. I went through everything—ID, check, house keys, check, sunscreen, check, hair brush, check, change purse, check, books that were most definitely overdue, check, candy, check, gum, check. I slumped against the seat, pushing my sunglasses up until they were in my hair.

I kept rubbing my wrists nervously, biting my lip as I looked around the city streets, anticipation growing. Why was this taking so long? I wanted to be home already, comfortable and cool and alone. I kept moving my wrists against my shorts, gnawing on my bottom lip. I probably looked crazy, but so did most of the people on the bus.

He touched my elbow and I jerked up, startled, looking over at him. Tense, my brown eyes met his green ones. I kept to myself for the most part, and since I usually looked like I was falling apart, most people kept their distance. What was he doing?

“Are you okay?”

With a practiced, albeit shaky, laugh, I nodded my head quickly (maybe too quickly, because he raised a puzzled eyebrow). I’ve spent my whole life trying to convince people I’m okay, but for some reason, he just didn’t buy it. It was bound to happen at some point, wasn’t it? At some point I wasn’t going to be enough—my fake smiles and laughs and simple lies weren’t going to be enough to convince people that I was okay. But since few people really ever took much of an interest in me, I didn’t think that day would ever come.

“Peachy.” He looked at my face and then at my shaky wrists, then back up at me again. He wrapped his hands around them in an attempt to stop them, which only made me even more nervous. He was a stranger—he didn’t know me and I was pretty sure I didn’t know him, so why was he trying to help me?

“Relax. You’re gonna burn a hole in those soon,” he joked.

“I can’t,” I mumbled.

“Just breathe.” His friendly pink lips smiled curled up in a smile as he kept his feather light grip around my bony wrists. “In—out, in—out—in, out—in.” He held his breath as I held mine and then let go, watching as I slumped even further into the hard plastic seat. “Out.” He let go. “Better now?”

No.

I’m never better, even though I really should be, but I’m not, and some impromptu breathing session on the bus with a friendly stranger won’t help that.

“F-Fine,” I spluttered, leaning over as I pulled on the string, setting off the bell when we turned down my street. “It was nice meeting you,” I said, getting up, keeping a firm hold on my bag. “Bye.”

I couldn’t get off the bus fast enough, tripping over my feet on the steps and almost falling flat on my face as I stepped off the last step quickly. I walked to my house briskly, willing myself not to look back at the bus as it pulled away. I pushed the door open anxiously, and then curled up on the couch, holding my legs tightly to my chest as my arms wrapped around them, leaning my head against my knees. At least I could breathe again and at least I was a little calmer than before. I sat up and looked down at my bony wrists, inspecting the dainty lines here, there, and everywhere.