How'd you know that would help, Grandma?

Used to have a regular who had attacks like that all the time. Poor guy. He was an accountant, loveless marriage-most of em were back then-and vaginas scared the bejeezus outta him.

How'd you know that would help, Grandma?

Used to have a regular who had attacks like that all the time. Poor guy. He was an accountant, loveless marriage-most of em were back then-and vaginas scared the bejeezus outta him.

At that moment my shyness and anxiety all flooded back and I took a few steps back, and then sank to the ground; crouching, overwhelmed, covering my face. ‘What will he think? What if he already hates me? Maybe I was wrong in the first place? Maybe he didn’t like me at all.’ No matter how much I tried, I wasn’t able to produce a single positive thought to counter my panic. I wasn’t able to take a deep breath and relax. This day had been too eventful. I began to shake furiously, afraid of what was to come. ‘He hates me! He hates me!’ I thought over and over. Hot tears began to fall down my cheeks and I squeezed my eyes trying to stop them. My breathing quickened. What was I doing? I had said what I wanted, proudly, trying to be something to him but here I was: a total mess.

‘What kind of a confession ends in a panic attack? GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF!’ I thought furiously, my efforts rewarded with futility. The world started to spin, my mouth becoming numb for reasons I couldn’t understand, almost as if to prevent me from panicking aloud. As if I had the friggin’ courage.

I’m the guy who knows how you can hurt so much that your insides feel like they’re cut and bleeding.

Panic attacks are sometimes an over active mind, I was thinking (with my over active mind) could it be possibly that we are all indeed very spiritual (without realising) On occassion we open our minds too far, Like some kind of spiritual awareness, This scares us (fear of the unknown) and this is when we start to panic? 'Kinda like thinking outside the box'

In a typical college romance novel, he'd be a gorgeous but troubled sex god who'd cure all my deep-seated psych issues with a good hard fuck. I'd smell his misogyny and abusive tendencies from miles off but my brain would turn to hormone soup because abs. That's the formula. Broken girl + bad boy = sexual healing. All you need to fix that tragic past is a six-pack. More problems? Add abs.

It's Magic Dick Lit.