Girl Online(6)

I don’t even know if an accident like that can cause this, but I keep having these weird panicky moments. If something stresses me out and I feel like I can’t escape, I start feeling like I did when I was trapped in the car. I go all hot and shivery and I feel like I can’t breathe. It’s happened three times now—so I’m really scared that it’s going to keep on happening. And I don’t know what to do.

I hope you don’t mind me writing about this. I promise I’ll get back to my usual self next week. I promise there’ll be loads of really yummy pics from Choccywoccydoodah! But if any of you have been through anything like I’ve just described, and you have any tips on how to make it stop, pleeeeease post them in the comments below. It’s bad enough being the Clumsiest Person in the Universe. I don’t want to be the panickiest too!!

Thank you!

Girl Online, going offline xxx





Chapter Three

The next morning I wake up to the usual chorus of seagulls squawking. Fingers of pale wintery light are creeping in through the gaps in the curtains. This is good. Recently I’ve been waking up so early it’s still been dark outside.

Elliot was right—writing the blog post really did help. I wrote it after he went home last night. At first it felt a bit awkward and cringey, but after a couple of sentences, all the thoughts and feelings I’ve been bottling up about the accident just flowed out of me. Once I posted it, I didn’t do my usual thing of waiting to see if it got any comments or shares. I felt so sleepy I just closed my laptop and went to bed.

As my body slowly adjusts itself to the fact that it has to wake up and deal with a whole new day, I rub my eyes and look around my bedroom. Mum and Dad joke that they didn’t really need to wallpaper my room because pretty much every inch of wall is covered with photos. When I ran out of space recently, I started clipping pictures onto a line and stringing it like bunting over my bed. Most of these photos are of Elliot messing around on the beach, playing dress-up in his vintage clothes. There’s also my favorite photograph of Mum, Dad, and Tom, all sitting around the tree last Christmas morning, with steaming mugs of coffee nestled in their hands. I love capturing these special little moments in time. This picture also reminds me of the moment just after: when Mum spied me hiding with my camera around the corner and called me over to join them on the sofa and we all started singing a really silly version of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas.” This is one of the things I love the most about photos: the way they can help you capture and relive moments of happiness forever.

I take my phone from my bedside table and turn it on. There’s a few seconds’ silence before it starts going crazy with email alerts. I go to my inbox and see that it’s crammed full of notifications from my blog. There have been loads of comments overnight. I pick my laptop up from the floor and open it, my heart pounding. Even though I’ve been running Girl Online for a year now, and even though my followers are really lovely and always post really positive things, I still have this crazy fear that one day it might all go wrong. What if they thought my post last night was too much—too heavy?

But it’s fine—in fact, it’s way better than fine. As I quickly scroll through the comments, I see words like “thank you,” “brave,” “honesty,” and “love” popping up again and again. I take a deep breath and start reading them properly. And what I read brings tears to my eyes.

Thank you for sharing this . . .

It sounds as if you’re suffering from panic attacks. Don’t worry, I get them too . . .

I thought I was the only one . . .

Now I know I’m not alone . . .

You’re bound to be shaken up after the accident . . .

Thank you for your honesty . . .

It will get better . . .

Have you tried relaxation techniques?

You’re so brave for sharing . . .

On and on they go until I feel as if I’m wrapped up in a toasty-warm blanket of love. In a way, it’s nice to know that “panic attacks” are an actual thing and not just my mind going crazy. There are things I can do to help myself feel more in control. I make a mental note to look them up later.

Downstairs, I hear my parents’ bedroom door opening and the soft thud of footsteps across the landing. I smile as I think of my dad on his way to make “Saturday Breakfast.” Elliot and I always give my dad’s “Saturday Breakfast” capital letters and speech marks because it is such a major event. I don’t think there’s a pan in the house that goes unused as he whips up bacon, three kinds of sausages, hash browns, and all kinds of eggs, with grilled herby tomatoes on the side and a stack of the fluffiest pancakes ever. My stomach starts rumbling just at the thought.

I knock on the wall five times—code for Are you awake? Straight away, Elliot knocks back three times—Can I come over? I knock back twice to say that he can. Now my whole body feels as if it’s grinning. Everything’s going to be OK. My panic attacks will go once the shock of the accident wears off. I’ll feel back to normal again soon. And in the meantime it’s “Saturday Breakfast”!

? ? ?

“Poached eggs or scrambled, Elliot?” Dad looks at Elliot expectantly. He’s wearing his usual Saturday-morning chef-ing gear: grey hoodie and sweatpants and a blue-and-white stripy apron.

“How are you scrambling them?” Elliot asks. In any other context this would be a pretty stupid question but not when it comes to my dad—he’s known for being able to scramble eggs in about two hundred different ways.