Shame

 "When you have a panic disorder, you can do everything you used to do." She pulled her feet up on the couch beside me, warming them on fake coals. "You just have to relearn how to do it."

I nodded, chin on my knees. "Showering's the hardest. When I got out, I wouldn't shower until I absolutely had to. Even now, I can only manage every other day."

"It's really common. I think because you're alone and vulnerable. Try playing happy music to sing along to, get your mind off it."

A long moment. I blew out a sigh - and a confession.

"I'm also really anxious about going back to school."

"Then don't go."

"What?" What? But everyone's expecting me to. I told people I'd be back for spring.

"Don't go. You have to do this for your schedule, not anyone else's."

"But my schedule says I should have been better ages ago." And my little book says the opposite: Let time pass. Don't look at a calendar. Don't look at a clock. Heal at your own pace.

"But you're not."

"No." My heart was still pounding. Face. Accept. Float. Let time pass. "But all my friends who are seniors... this is their last term. I don't want my anxiety to rob me of the time I have left with them.

"So go down and visit them."

"I already do."

"So?"

So I should be BETTER. I should have FIXED this, I'm stupid, weak, pathetic, broken. A burden on everyone.

I let my hair spill over my face. The glow of the space heater blurred. "So maybe I'm not ready to go back."