I knew I'd always remember the day I was weak and worthless. I knew that it would always be forever burned into my mind. But, what I didn't know, was that I would always be able to feel the pain that struck me with each and every breath.
I coughed again, harshly ripping up my windpipe with the forceful air that escaped with the cough. My chest heaved as my body tried to take in as much oxygen as it could, but I tried to slow it down, only to fail miserably. I tried to calm my organs down by closing my eyes, by freezing in my position, but it didn't work.
Another coughing fit erupted from my lungs and I leaned back against the three-part window that reached the ceiling. My face was looking towards the ceiling and my hands gripped the window-sill and corner as I held myself on my toes.
My chest was tight, my lungs were burning, my stomach was continually moving at the rate of my lungs, and it hurt to breath. My chest was so sore from all the coughing, it was too painful to move in certain ways and I couldn't slow my breathing down. Each pant for air seemed to ignore all oxygen that entered my system.
No matter how hard I try, the fear is always there to greet me. Every time my chest decides to tighten, every time I begin to cough...every time I wish to just pass out. It's not like I can stop this...the fear of no one being there. And, the fear of dying is always with me, and it will never go away.
Cold air of my inhaler entered my mouth and down my windpipe as I took a deep breath. I could feel my heart rate pick up, and my lungs begin to work for air.
Tears pricked at the side of my eyes from not being able to breath. They recognized the feeling of having a leather-belt squeezing my chest as two cinderblocks were placed on my torso. I blinked and the tears began their descent down my face.
A coughing fit jumped from my lungs, causing the tears to fall from my eyes faster. I was so scared.
What if they don't dial 911 quick enough? What if the ambulance doesn't reach the school in time? What if I don't get to the hospital in time?
What if they can't give me the treatment quick enough?
I can close my eyes and feel the pain from the equipment sinking into my skin, see the idiots look at me as if I'm from another planet...hear the conversations.
"Now, this won't hurt too bad." The paramedic mumbled, holding my arm straight out.
I whimpered as I looked the other way, clamping my eyes shut with as much force as possible. The large IV was placed over my vein before it broke through the skin. I bit my lip as the burning sensation ran through-out my whole arm, centering at the bend.
"I'm going to leave this in there for the doctor, so if he needs it they don't have to put another in and they can just use this on."
Shut the hell up. I know, I've done this before, you fucking idiot. Don't they tell you anything about the girl from my middle school? YOU KNOW MY GODDAMN PARENTS NOW SHUT UP.
The guy continued rambling, asking me questions as to what my hobbies where. I answered with the smallest sentences I could, hoping he would get the point.
"We're almost there, don't worry."
Everyone in my class just stared at me from a distance as I cried into my arms. No one tried to see what was wrong with me, no one noticed how I dulled at the sound of them asking about my ambulance trips. It's all because of them asking stupid questions.
"Is riding in an ambulance fun?"
"What's it like to be rolled around on those bed-thingies?"
It's all because of their stupid comments from one, stupid cough.
"Don't have an asthma attack now!"
"Hey, don't leave on the ambulance again!"
They think it's funny, that it's all a laughing matter. None of them realize how life-threatening it is to have this disease.
"Ugh...I couldn't call yesterday because of some bitch getting on an ambulance. Can you believe they made me wait to call until she got out the door? How selfish."
"She's only doing it for attention. I mean, look at how many people ask her if she's okay. What an attention-whore."
"Oh my god, look at how many guys she's getting to talk to her! Even Allen is talking to her! She's just getting guys to notice her."
I listen to them as they talk about me, making assumptions on my life. I ignore them, I let them talk. Why I do this, I don't know, but I do.
I let the teachers talk amongst themselves, trying to figure out what to do. I let them place me in separate rooms from everyone else. What good would it do to argue? To talk back? To defend myself?
They won't change their views, so who cares?
I continue on with my everyday life at school, ignoring the looks, the rumors.
My friend's wonder why I get quieter each year of school, yet they don't put it together when I tell them about the people putting me down. They listen to me, and they try to help. They're hearts are in the right place, but they don't know what they're doing.
My arm is burning with that dull, yet so real, sensation of the memory of the IV. My chest is getting tighter, my lungs are working harder. I try to cry out for help, but they all turn their backs on me, ignoring me when I need help the most.
They think I'm just acting. To get high off of an inhaler of all things.
I continue coughing as I hold myself against a wall, my stomach seeming to take in the air instead of my lungs. No one seems to hear me as I reach out and cry for them to call someone.
Their minds are focusing on other things that seem to be more important than a girl not being able to breath.
I jolt awake, panting and in a cold sweat. My eyes gaze around my room, and I wipe the tears that are pricking at my eyes.
The memories would always haunt me, the voices always telling me I'm faking. I know that I'll never be able to get rid of this sensation. But why does no one seem to notice it hurts me when they joke? I tell them to stop....
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