There are many factors that can lead to utter panic.
Paralysis and blindness are the two major indicators that basically overwhelm one’s self; and lucky me was hit with both of them simultaneously.
There was solid ground beneath me, so the sense of actually feeling was still there—but the only real feeling I got was aching pain.
There was oncoming headache that nestled itself deep into my skull, and the dull throb pulsing in my lower back didn’t help much either.
And if that wasn’t enough, sucking in oxygen was becoming more of a chore than a God-given instinct. But the air itself wasn’t normal—there was a twinge of staleness, almost as if the air had never seen the light of day; always circulating the same walls, never leaving.
And if the air was trapped, than I most likely was too.
The panic returned—the pressing questions of where I was and who I was and where I had been taken violently circling in my mind.
I didn’t even notice that I had started to hyperventilate.
In my frightened haste to get free from whatever I was imprisoned in, I begun to push at the enormous gap of darkness—pushing for a way out—an escape.
Streams of light poked through, noises and colors illuminating and flashing hurriedly.
There was strain now, a sense of heaviness everywhere, but I was desperate.
Desperate for answers, desperate for freedom—I wanted out.
And finally, I was given opportunity.
The darkness illuminated tenfold—colors bursting from every direction. It was overwhelming, chaotic. Colors shifted rapidly, tiny glimpses of shapes and pictures appeared and disappeared. In a matter of seconds, voices started mixing in with the hectic slideshow. They were familiar—painfully so. I knew those voices so well that it hurt.
It was like this never-ending loop of pure disorientation, and all I could do was absorb it.
“Stop,” I whispered, eyes squeezed shut and hands protectively over my ears, ”stop.”