Free I Don't Want to Be Crazy by Samantha Schutz

out.
The day goes reasonably well
until dinner.
Our group is on the bus, pulling up to a restaurant
when the electricity races up my chest
and stops with a fizzle at my lips.
    I cannot go in there.
I cannot sit down
and act normal
over a leisurely dinner.
It is not possible.
Everyone gets off the bus
and I tell Rebecca
I cannot go in there.
I need to walk.
I need to move.
I cannot sit.
I cannot be confined.
    We walk down the road a little
and there is nothing
but fields on all sides.
Just the restaurant and our bus and some fields
and I am babbling like a lunatic,
wishing I could take off running
and never come back.
This is it, I think.
I have finally gone completely insane.
    After a few minutes of walking
I tell Rebecca she has to go get our coordinator.
I need to go to a hospital
because
I
can
not
do
this.
    The only thing that makes me feel better
is the thought of slightly stiff hospital sheets,
the scent of disinfectant,
and a tag on my wrist
with my name and information.
    Our coordinator comes out
and wants to know what is going on.
I wonder if he has been trained for this,
if he got a pamphlet
titled, What to do if one of your students
goes insane on a back road in the middle of nowhere.
He tries to coax me inside,
but I am not ready for that.
He tells me that he used to have panic attacks,
but they went away,
just like that.
One day, he grew out of them.
His anecdote converts some of my panic
into anger.
    His story insults me,
makes me feel as if what I am going through
is not significant—
that it’s just a phase.
    His wife comes out
and suggests that I have some wine,
that it will help relax me.
She says she has some pills
at the hotel she can give me.
    This is what I want to hear.
I want solutions.
    The restaurant sets up a table for me and Rebecca
away from the others
because there is no way
I can be around that many people
staring at me and thinking I am insane.
    The next day we are supposed to tour Avignon,
but I cannot go with the group.
It is too dangerous.
I need to keep myself safe.
Another girl is sitting out the day too.
From what she says,
it sounds like she has irritable bowel syndrome
and it’s nice to know
that I am in good company.
    We stay at a café
while the others walk around.
There is a table with a man and his son.
Over and over the son asks, “C’est quoi ça? ”
To be that young
and not know what things are
is enviable.
    She and I sit outside in the sun in the town square.
I reassure myself that I have eaten enough,
that I won’t pass out,
but I wonder if I have had enough water.
Always the fear of the uncontrollable
dark times when I am somewhere
in between here and there.
    I feel safer being with her,
but my body is still buzzing
and at any moment
I could have another panic attack.
    I know I am sick,
I just thought I was better.
    It is over
and I am back in Paris and I am tired
as if I have been in a war.
My stomach is still clenched
and I don’t know when it will let go.
    I feel like I am back at square one,
at the edge of something,
and I don’t know what will be there when I fall.
Two days ago I was willing to commit myself
and now all is calm,
but the old fears have come back
and I could break at any minute.
    I wonder how I must look
to Rebecca when it happens.
It’s scarier than physical illness
because there is no vomit or fever.
Nothing external.
Nothing to see
but the fear in my eyes
and it scares me
because I don’t know what to do anymore.
I don’t have any answers
and so many times this weekend
I had to ask for Rebecca’s help.
    This hurts
more than anything else
because I cannot stop it.
    “Here’s the thing, Doctor,
I have a history of anxiety disorder.
I’ve been off meds for almost a year and a half,
but now things are bad, really bad,
and I can feel they are going to get worse.
I need something.
Spring break is coming up soon
and I couldn’t even handle a weekend in the countryside.
I’ve got plans, three countries in two weeks.
I’ve got tickets and