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Rated: 18+ · Short Story · Psychology · #1279607
Unfinished look at the struggles of an often misunderstood disorder.
I tried to refocus on what my chemistry professor was saying but she just sounded like the teacher in Snoopy cartoons,

"Waa waa waa waa waa waa."

In the bathroom I had noticed what looked to be some kind of insect or spider bite on my thigh. It was about the size of a quarter, a little swollen and bright red. I never felt anything bite me and actually it didn't hurt or itch, even when I pressed on it. I had sat in the stall for fifteen minutes examining it, and now I couldn't get it out of my mind.

"What if it's a hive?" I thought, "An allergic reaction to something I ate? What if right now it's growing, spreading over my entire thigh? What if there are other spots I've missed? What if it's the first stages of anaphylaxis???"

My heart began to race as my mind spun off down these illogical paths. I tried hard to bring myself back, but I couldn't.

"You are fine," I attempted to tell myself, "Remember, you always fear the worst."

But the negative thoughts were tigers easily ripping apart my gazelles of rationality. My hands started to tingle and my fingertips felt numb. Fear poured over me as I imagined the anaphylaxis reaction now moving through my entire body. I tried to inhale deeply and found that my throat was now thick and narrow. I could only get in tight shallow breathes.

"Oh God," I thought, "I'm going to die in chemistry class."

I looked around. The walls began to move in and the floor came slowly up at me.

"I have to get help before I pass out," I thought.

"Are you okay?" the guy sitting next to me asked looking concerned.

A mirror of reality flashed in front of me as I became conscious of how strange I must look, eyes darting, hands shaking, taking "test breathes" to see if I could still inhale.

"I need to get outside," I whispered, not quite ready to scream "help! dial 911!"...but close.

I stood up and aimed for the door. Outside I sat down on a bench and leaned back, careful to keep my air passage as open as possible.

"Ok," I tried to reason, "Is this real, or am I just imagining all this?"

For a moment I thought maybe the whole thing, except, of course, the red spot on my thigh, could all be in my head. Then suddenly, my throat tightened again and images of suffocation flooded my mind. My whole body began to shake as I got up from the bench. My mouth was dry and pasty. I could barely manage to swallow and I was beginning to experience some tingling and numbness in my cheeks.

"That's proof," I conjectured, "This must be real. I'm losing feeling in my face now. I don't have much time."

I walked toward the nurses' office as fast as I felt was safe without risking getting more out of breath. My eyes must have looked like saucers as I frantically pushed past other college students meandering the campus sidewalks.

"I think I am having an allergic reaction!" I gasped as I flung open the door.

The nurse looked up from a book and calmly told me to sit down.

"Why do you think that?" she questioned.

Inside I felt irritated that she had not recognized the urgency of the situation.

"I have a swollen red spot on my leg and I'm having trouble breathing," I spouted between labored breathes, "It's been getting worse over the last ten minutes."...

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