Page 89 of Feels Like Coming Home

“Cam, I don’t want to talk to you! There’s nothing to talk about, just leave!” Frustration and anxiety were building in my throat and tears were burning my eyes.

You’re so fucking stupid,the voices inside my head said.He never loved you and you’re a fool for thinking he did.

I could feel the panic building in my stomach, a large knot forming as Cam continued to beg for me to open the door.

“I’m not leaving you, Jones. I promised you I wouldn’t and I meant it!”

“Haley…” Piper put her hand on my shoulder and I tried to ground myself in how it felt. I could feel the anxiety building and needed something to help ground myself in what was real.

What are five things you see?I thought to myself, running through a strategy Deborah taught me when I felt an anxiety attack coming on. I looked around the room and tried to name five things, but the tears in my eyes blurred my vision.

You were never meant to have him,the nasty voice inside my head said.He saw that you were weak and alone. He just wanted to get you in bed, make you love him, and then leave. He would never stay for you; you aren’t worth sticking around for.

Why do you think your dad left? And Connor? They never loved you enough to stick around and neither does Cam.

You’re worthless. Unlovable.

That’s why every man leaves you.

“That’s not true,” I whispered to myself, trying to catch my breath.

Just wait, next it will be Piper. Then your mom and Deborah. You’re broken and who wants to be with someone who’s as broken as you are?

My hands were starting to clench at my sides and I dug my fingernails into my palms to try and hold back the tears. The feeling that I hadn’t felt since coming to the bungalow was back. Like two hands were wrapped around my neck and were slowly starting to squeeze all the air out of me.

“Hays, are you okay?” Piper’s voice felt so distant, even though I knew she was standing right next to me.

My heart raced and the feeling of being suffocated was growing. My eyes burned, my nose was running and my stomach was knotted like old ivy to a brick building. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was underwater and drowning. Nothing felt real or safe or stable. Everything I worried about was coming true.

Cam didn’t love me.

He just wanted to use me.

And I fucking let him.

Again.

“Haley, can you hear me? Breathe, sweetie, you’re having a panic attack. You’re safe. You’re okay.”

I fell to my knees, my hands on the floor in front of me, Piper knelt next to me, speaking slowly.

All of the voices in my head were screaming, and I tried to speak, but the lump in my throat had completely cut off my ability to form words. I worked to raise my eyes to look at her mouth as she spoke, trying to process what she was saying. Trying to escape my mind and the horrible place it had trapped me in.

“I’m okay…” I questioned through panicked breaths. Tears fell from my face and landed on the backs of my hands.

“Yes, you’re okay, sweetie. Breathe.” She soothed and took some deep breaths, encouraging me to mimic her.

“Jones? Jones, are you okay?!” I could hear Cam’s hurried and panicked voice through the front door but did nothing. I couldn’t see him. I couldn’t open the door and let him see what he had done to me.

“Camden, shut up!” Piper shouted back to him, “Just give us a minute!”

She looked back at me and held my cheeks in her hands, forcing me to look at her. So I had to focus on something real instead of the voices and fears that were spiraling inside my head.

“Sweetie? Are you in there? Can you hear me?” Piper had experienced my panic attacks in the past after I lost Connor and she always knew how to bring me back.

She spoke slowly, didn’t force me to talk or do anything I wasn’t ready to do, and never told me I was being crazy or overdramatic. She kept her cool, took things slow, and helped me come back to real life on my own time.

“Yeah…yeah I hear you, Piper,” I said slowly. My breath was starting to slow and my eyes were starting to dry. I looked down at my hands which were flat against the floor and started to count each of my fingers. Something that always helped me when I was having an anxiety attack was rooting myself in things that I could see. Things that I could see were real.

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