I'll be my own hero

I can’t breathe.

I can’t breathe and there is nothing I can do about it.

It’s the kind of breathlessness that an inhaler can’t cure and no matter how many times I take deep breathes, it still feels like I am drowning.

It’s busy today. I don’t know what I was expecting but It is so, so busy. I should have stayed in my room but I need to actually get outside.

Summer is nearly over now. With the end of summer comes the frantic mothers doing last-minute school supply shopping, children hanging from their ankles and embarrassed pre-teens, trying their hardest not to be seen with their mothers on a sunny Wednesday afternoon. Town is packed to the brim with these mothers and groups of teenagers trying to absorb the last of the sun before school starts.

I decided that I need to go outside once a day for the sake of my own sanity. Besides, I needed to buy new headphones anyway, the ones keeping my hearing from the sounds of the real world were falling apart, letting close by sounds in. They were held together with masking tape.

But I don’t think I can do it. My legs have become weak and my mouth so dry that I can’t even apologise to the boy I walk into.

“Watch where you’re fucking going” He spits at me, behind my back.

I began to walk faster so that I can avoid his stares. Why are people so mean? Would that boy have been so rude had he known I was trying my hardest to be invisible? Probably.

I learned at the ripe age of 12 that no one really cares about me. Or probably anyone that isn’t themselves. I learned this the day I started year 7, high school. Jack Green tripped me as I walked past him and his gang of other “cool” twelve-year-olds.

“Watch where you’re going tweety pie,” he said slyly, followed by breathy whistles. He was trying to imitate a bird call but wasn’t doing a very good job. But that didn’t stop his pals from laughing and joining in with the whistles. We were surrounded by high schoolers and not one single person helped me up. All I received was the frustrated hissing from an angry-looking teacher.

I love my parents, but did they really have to double barrel my first name with Birdie? A name like Elodie-Birdie really made high school a bit of a hell hole I’m not going to lie. For five years of my life, I had a series of different bird related jokes thrown my way. Tweety pie, little birdie, high pitched tweeting and whistling - I mean it could have been worse I guess but I can reassure you it got really fucking boring really fucking fast.

Finally, I reach my destination - the local music and film shop. I linger at the windows for a moment and cast an anxious glance inwards. It’s busy. Not as busy as it is outside but it is still busy. And I know for a fact it will be very, very hot in there. A game plan. That’s what I need. I will go in, go to the headphone/speaker shelf (at the very back of the shop), look at some posters on the right hand of the shop (so I don’t look like a headless chicken and run to the tills) and then slowly walk to the tills, smile on face. I will tell them I have plans to meet friends (even if that is not true) when they ask me about my day, and I will smile, hand them the two rolled up ten pound notes from my pocket, and then I will smile, say thank you and leave the shop. It will all go to plan and I will be fine.

It will all be fine.

I release the breath I didn’t realise I was holding, take my hood down so I don’t look like a shop lifter, and walk into the shop.

I was right, it’s fucking boiling. I roll my baggy pink sleeves up to my elbows and look straight ahead at my destination. The back shelf. I weave my way past the teenage girls picking up DVDs, gasping at the prices and putting them down and try to keep my eyes on the shelf at the very back of the shop. I mutter a few silent apologies as I scoot past other shop goers and then after what feels like forever, I reach the shelf.

I know what I want, I’ve done my research. I pick up the comfortable looking headphones with the wireless features and double bass sound, pretend to read the back of the box and then begin to slowly walk towards the poster rack at the side of the shop. I pretend to look interested as I flip through the posters that barely ever get renewed. I see all the usual, familiar faces of emojis and indie rock bands. I shape my face to an expression that says “Oh! Maybe next time!” and begin to walk towards the till.

Guess what? I get to the till. By this point, my palms are sweating and I can hear my heart beat in my ears. I plan the words that I will say to the cashier over and over in my head “Hanging out with friends... Thank you...friends... Thank you”

It is the second, impatient call of “next” that knocks me out of my planning and then I notice the irritated huffs and puffs from the long queue behind me. I shuffle forwards, putting my new headphones onto the check out desk and it was then I knew, the panic attack was very, dangerously close. The cashier asks me if I am having a good day in such a monotonous voice that I knew that she couldn’t care less. I nod, plastering an awkward smile across my face, nodding and stare at the space between her eyebrows.

“Can I interest you in our store card?” She asks.

“No thanks” I reply but I know that she didn’t hear me because I barely heard myself. I can’t talk and now I feel as though I have to get the stupid card because everyone is staring at me and perhaps I owe it to her. So I nod.

Big mistake. She asks my email address, my name my phone number. I whisper my responses and she asks me to repeat myself twice. Finally, Finally I hand over my money, take my receipt and walk out of the shop as fast as my wobbly legs could take me. I need to get out of here. Everyone is staring, I can feel their eyes burning into the back of my skull.

I begin to run as fast as I can up the back alleys of town. Arcanechester is an average sized city, meaning there are bus stops in a lot of places. I get to the stop just as a bus to my estate draws in, I run to the doors, hop on, flash my bus pass and run to the furthest seat at the back. Setting up my new headphones takes a mere five minutes, then I can finally put the old shitty ones in my bag and listen to music with the new ones. I let the strong bass carry me to distant lands in my head. But I still wish I could disappear.