Why do you freak out? What do you do? Anything about it.
Freak
By Bite me on June 27th 2009, the wee hours.on topic Freaking Out
I don't want to turn out like him. I lost it. Didn't go soon enough. it wasn't a controlled freak out. I lost it. In the middle of latin class. now they hate me. More. Ugh. Can't think. Thinking hurts. it makes me focus on the issues. Things I work so hard to bury. To forget. I need to freak. Before I lose it. then...
There are no comments on freewrites, however you may message the author.
By K Marie on June 27th 2009, the wee hours.
on topic Freaking Out
on topic Freaking Out
Going crazy. Living for a moment. Free from worry. ALIVE. a release. No one knowing where. Not being scared. Breathing.
There are no comments on freewrites, however you may message the author.
GAH.
By Avalanche.Echo on June 27th 2009, early afternoon.on topic Freaking Out
I have to tell her, I have to tell her about my eating disorder. I have to get better. I have everything completely planned--I even picked out a probable eating disorder clinic, talked with the owner, who's going to give me financial aid to the extreme--she says if I want to go, she'll do her best to make sure I'm able to, even though we're flat broke and the usual cost is 30K for the first month and $800 per DAY afterwards; the usual max financial aid makes the total $18K for the first month and 550 per day after that, but she's willing to do just about anything it takes.
I know what I'm going to tell her, where, when, how. So why am I freaking out?
I'm having trouble breathing. My chest hurts. I'm sick to my stomach, I'm shaking, I'm fighting the urge to rip out my hair because I don't want another bout with trichotillomania. I want to scream, but I can't because she's right there; I want to tell her right now but I can't, it's all planned and we can't defy The Plan. Everything will crumble if we don't obey The Plan.
So I have a week and a half to panic. Joy of joys.
I know what I'm going to tell her, where, when, how. So why am I freaking out?
I'm having trouble breathing. My chest hurts. I'm sick to my stomach, I'm shaking, I'm fighting the urge to rip out my hair because I don't want another bout with trichotillomania. I want to scream, but I can't because she's right there; I want to tell her right now but I can't, it's all planned and we can't defy The Plan. Everything will crumble if we don't obey The Plan.
So I have a week and a half to panic. Joy of joys.
There are no comments on freewrites, however you may message the author.
Emite
By lilma14 on July 5th 2009, early evening.on topic Freaking Out
Feelings and emotions
Boys and girls
Anger
and overloads
Where should I truly begin
Hands sweat
Mouth goes dry
Time slows down
Dizziness
Pale
An overload
And just confused
I freak out
and I guess now you know
why !
Boys and girls
Anger
and overloads
Where should I truly begin
Hands sweat
Mouth goes dry
Time slows down
Dizziness
Pale
An overload
And just confused
I freak out
and I guess now you know
why !
There are no comments on freewrites, however you may message the author.
trapped
By Junebug694 on July 7th 2009, early afternoon.on topic Freaking Out
i'm trapped inside this tiny space
and though i'm not claustrophobic,
i begin to hyperventilate.
i do anything
anything
to get me out of here,
banging my head and fists against the walls
and watching them bleed.
i feel like i'm going crazy,
like i'm completely losing my mind
how can i ever find a way out of here
before i run out of time?
more red runs from my bleeding head
drip drip drip
on the cold concrete floor.
still trapped, maybe i am claustrophobic,
or maybe i'm just insane.
stuck forever in this tiny cold room
with barely enough space to stand.
and though i'm not claustrophobic,
i begin to hyperventilate.
i do anything
anything
to get me out of here,
banging my head and fists against the walls
and watching them bleed.
i feel like i'm going crazy,
like i'm completely losing my mind
how can i ever find a way out of here
before i run out of time?
more red runs from my bleeding head
drip drip drip
on the cold concrete floor.
still trapped, maybe i am claustrophobic,
or maybe i'm just insane.
stuck forever in this tiny cold room
with barely enough space to stand.
There are no comments on freewrites, however you may message the author.
Freaking Out....
By SlaveToTheBlade on September 6th 2009, the wee hours.on topic Freaking Out
"Oh god oh god oh god oh god." I said.
"Calm down, dude. It's gonna be okay." my best friend said, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"Oh god oh god oh god. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Shit shit shit shit. Oh fucking god damned mother fucking son of a bitch I can't do this." I said, all in one breath.
I was suddenly light headed, and I was glad for his hand, or I would have fallen over onto an incredibly ugly wall. It was ten in the morning, on my wedding day, and I leaning on a wall who's color absolutely defied description. The walls were that color that's not white, but not tan, and not off white, and not any of the other shades that mean "Not Fucking White".
"Dude, it's gonna be fine. In just a little bit, those doors are gonna open, and you're gonna see her. It'll be fine." he said again.
"I don't belive you, man. It's not gonna be fine. This is it. This is the day. THE day, man. You don't get it. You're not married." I said, pointing a finger at him.
It made me a bit dizzier, and so I crouched down. He snorted.
"Yes I am. You were there, remember?" he said. "And technically, you aren't married either. Not yet."
I rolled my eyes and fought down another wave of nausea. She wasn't there. It was ten o'clock, and we were supposed to get married at ten o'clock, but it was ten o'clock and we weren't getting married at ten o'clock. What had happened? Why wasn't she there? Was she having second thoughts? Had she finally figured it out? Did she understand that she was better than me? That she deserved better than me? Was she hurt? Was she, god forbid, dead?
These questions raced through my mind, fueling another round of swearing that could peel the incredibly ugly paint.
Just then, I heard the doors creak open, and everyone in the room turned to look as the priest entered, a grim look on his face. His eyes found mine, and the questions there. He glanced around, and didn't say anything, just offering a small smile.
He came and stood next to me, without speaking, and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Son, I have some bad news." he said. "I spoke to the doctor..."
He paused, and my heart dropped out. Time stopped. Nothing else happened that day. Nothing. The sad look on the priest's face stuck, frozen, unmoving. My best friend's hand squeezed my other shoulder reassuringly, but it took all day. I stopped breathing, and somehow, my brain didn't die. It just burned. Burned in the agony of the precious few seconds I had before he spoke again. Burned in the eternity that each second was.
"I spoke to the doctor, and she's gorgeous. You're gonna have to beat the other men off with a stick." he finished, smiling.
As he said those words, the music began, and my attention snapped back to the rear of the church.
At ten oh one, and thirty four seconds, my wife, the doctor, stepped through the doors, and my life began...
"Calm down, dude. It's gonna be okay." my best friend said, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder.
"Oh god oh god oh god. Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Shit shit shit shit. Oh fucking god damned mother fucking son of a bitch I can't do this." I said, all in one breath.
I was suddenly light headed, and I was glad for his hand, or I would have fallen over onto an incredibly ugly wall. It was ten in the morning, on my wedding day, and I leaning on a wall who's color absolutely defied description. The walls were that color that's not white, but not tan, and not off white, and not any of the other shades that mean "Not Fucking White".
"Dude, it's gonna be fine. In just a little bit, those doors are gonna open, and you're gonna see her. It'll be fine." he said again.
"I don't belive you, man. It's not gonna be fine. This is it. This is the day. THE day, man. You don't get it. You're not married." I said, pointing a finger at him.
It made me a bit dizzier, and so I crouched down. He snorted.
"Yes I am. You were there, remember?" he said. "And technically, you aren't married either. Not yet."
I rolled my eyes and fought down another wave of nausea. She wasn't there. It was ten o'clock, and we were supposed to get married at ten o'clock, but it was ten o'clock and we weren't getting married at ten o'clock. What had happened? Why wasn't she there? Was she having second thoughts? Had she finally figured it out? Did she understand that she was better than me? That she deserved better than me? Was she hurt? Was she, god forbid, dead?
These questions raced through my mind, fueling another round of swearing that could peel the incredibly ugly paint.
Just then, I heard the doors creak open, and everyone in the room turned to look as the priest entered, a grim look on his face. His eyes found mine, and the questions there. He glanced around, and didn't say anything, just offering a small smile.
He came and stood next to me, without speaking, and placed a hand on my shoulder.
"Son, I have some bad news." he said. "I spoke to the doctor..."
He paused, and my heart dropped out. Time stopped. Nothing else happened that day. Nothing. The sad look on the priest's face stuck, frozen, unmoving. My best friend's hand squeezed my other shoulder reassuringly, but it took all day. I stopped breathing, and somehow, my brain didn't die. It just burned. Burned in the agony of the precious few seconds I had before he spoke again. Burned in the eternity that each second was.
"I spoke to the doctor, and she's gorgeous. You're gonna have to beat the other men off with a stick." he finished, smiling.
As he said those words, the music began, and my attention snapped back to the rear of the church.
At ten oh one, and thirty four seconds, my wife, the doctor, stepped through the doors, and my life began...
There are no comments on freewrites, however you may message the author.
