That is What You Do
When itís three am and you feel like every breath you take is going to be your last because the room is running out of oxygen, you donít want some strong handsome boy to come and save you and wipe your tears away while whispering that youíre beautiful.
You donít want to cry and scream until you get the attention of your parents and they come rushing to see whatís wrong with their baby, until your fatherís strong arms wrap around you like castle walls and your motherís lips press to your hair in a promise.
You donít want your big brother to wake up and stumble his way up the stairs to you, because as much as you fight, youíre his baby sister and he would rip people to pieces if you asked, would tear them apart without a blink of an eye for you and face the consequences unapologetically.
You donít want to call your best friend and have her listen to your hitched breaths and your shaky exhales and listen to her soothe you like she has dozens of times before, until you can feel your hands again and your face doesnít feel contorted into that horrible grimace.
You donít want to text your friend that lives overseas and tell her whatís happening, that itís happening again at a time that she canít help, when sheís dead asleep, even though you know the moment she wakes up sheíll check on you, tell you everything you need and want to hear.
When itís three am and you feel like your lungs are about to collapse, like your blood is ice in your veins, when your heart is seizing up and convulsing unevenly in your chest, all you want is to be able to save yourself. You want to take a breath, steel yourself against your demons, and be your own fucking hero.
And so that is what you do.