Page 115 of After All This Time

The female main character suffers from PTSD and panic attacks. It’s oddly therapeutic writing about anxiety from a character’s perspective because I’m also taking into account that it’s actually me saying these things.

No matter how hard I try to focus though, my mind keeps shifting to Noah.

I have no idea what the hell he’s doing. And it’s stressing me out. I mean I know he’s editing, but still. A girl needs to know these things.

Sitting back on my office chair, I glance out the window to see birds sitting in the tree in front of the house, chirping away.

The sky is gradually getting darker as time goes on. The view outside my window is nice and serene.

Why don’t I feel serene?

I need a drink. Too bad I don’t drink alcohol that often. Caffeine is the answer to my problem.

Wait, I can’t drink caffeine right now. What the hell am I thinking?

See this is the problem. I’m already wired. Caffeine will only make it worse.

Music. That’s what I need.

Music will calm me down and allow me to regain my focus.

I grab my wireless earbuds, sticking them both in my ears. I maximize the window for Spotify, finding my playlist that has my current favorite songs on it.

It’s hard to miss because of the title.

Good Shit.

Pressing the play button, a big smile grows on my face when I realize Olivia Rodrigo’s voice is in my ears.

I’m finishing up the edits I’ve been working on for the past month, courtesy of my lovely beta readers. They’re a sweet group of people and they’ve been incredibly helpful in providing me with constructive feedback on my book.

It’s no secret I’m an adult.

Maybe I don’t act like one all the time, but I am.

It’s surreal to relive my teenage years through Olivia Rodrigo’s angsty and emotional discography. No, I didn’t experience heartbreak or have a life-changing relationship. But, it’s cool to imagine I did both of those things through her music.

The irony is it hasn’t been that long since I was a teenager. It just feels like it has.

Time is such a common yet foreign concept. Sometimes it’s slow. Sometimes it’s fast. There never seems to be any in between. Not in my personal experience, at least.

For instance, it feels like my dad passed away only yesterday, but he actually passed away nine years ago. I can’t believe it will be a decade next year.

I blink my eyes three times in a row to stop the tears from welling up.

My bat mitzvah was one of the last times I had a heart-to-heart with him.

I studied the shit out of my Torah portion, but anxiety got the best of me before I could even walk into the temple.

My dad pulled me aside.

I remember the exact words he said to me.

You’re going to do great, pumpkin. If you feel those nerves trying to take over when you’re up there, just picture everybody in their underwear. Works like a charm. You studied so hard for this. You can do this. I know you can. You’re a strong girl because you’re my girl. My daughter. You’re a Solomon. And we never back down from a challenge. We never admit defeat.

That last part always echoes over and over again in my head like the inside of my head is incredibly hollow.

I’m brought back to reality when I notice how late it’s getting. “Shit, I need to get ready for bed,” I mumble to myself.

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