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It’s 4am.

I’m lying on the sofa, stretched out with a duvet over my lower half.

If anyone saw me now they’d marvel at my relaxed state. But it’s a mask.

My arms are stretched out over my head, over the arm of the sofa, in the hope of achieving peace and my eyes are closed so that I can’t see the room swishing and spinning.

My heart is beating so hard and fast that I’m convinced my breast bone will snap at any minute.

My family upstairs must be able to hear the loud, pulsating beating.

I need to vomit but I can’t move.

I’m scared.

And after what feels like an eternity, it stops.

The adrenalin remains in my limbs though. Leaving me feeling both agitated and exhausted.

My stomach churns.

And my family sleep on.

Farewell familiar panic attack, until the next time…