Lately whenever I have put my hand to my chest I have felt the fast, heavy beat of my heart beneath. When I am able to muffle the angry voices in my head for long enough I can hear the raspy quickened pace of my breath that will only slow when I consciously make the effort to pace my breathing.
It's not until I go to bed at night time and try to sleep while hearing my housemates walk past my room and their loud voices in the early morning and I wrap my bed clothes tighter around my shaking body do I realise just how incredibly anxious I have become.
Paranoid too; often while lying in bed I'll strain my ears to hear their voices on the other side of the wall, loud as they are the words themselves inaudible. Then whenever their voices happen to lower I sit up with the blood thudding in my ears and my eyes staring at the vacant wall of my bedroom to desperately make out if they are referring to me.
If really stressed, I'll pad my way from my bedroom where only my computer sits for company to the backdoor where my dog sits upon the verandah patiently waiting for a walk, giving the housemates dirty looks if they have stopped dead in their conversation, on what seems like on my account.
I say nothing to them as I speak softly to my dog while stroking her velvety ears as her eyes swimming with betrayal gaze up at me. "I'm sorry" I say, every time. Before guilt consumes me again and I pad back over the chipper board to my room to close the door and try to seal in some sort of privacy, some sort of sanctuary for my soul and mind while I gaze at the photos and post cards that remind me of home and the people and things I love plastered upon my wall as the nostalgia sets it again.
This feels like deja-vu ....again.