"I think I'm dying."
He put his arm around me, "No you're not, you're fine. You just need to take a deep breath." I did.
I filled my lungs with air to the point where it hurt and I held it there, refusing myself to let the air go. It was my decision whether or not to breathe.
It was my decision whether or not to be stressed about every little thing that was pecking at the inside of my head. I could let it go, maybe not all of it but at least some of it.
I released the breath and collapsed more into his arms. I didn't have to have all this weight on my shoulders, it was a choice. I felt some power in knowing that.
Not enough to make me feel relaxed but enough to make me feel in control and that's what I needed most.
"I'm glad you're here."
The tension slowly melted from my body as his hands gently rubbed my shoulders and arms. Not enough to relax all of my muscles but it was enough to feel something good.
I wasn't dying.
My chest was not going to cave in. My head was not going to explode from all the thoughts trying to push their way out. My lungs were not going to give up.
I was going to breathe and get through it because I was alive and everything was going to be okay.