Although I’m accompanied by my mother, it’s not enough to soothe my growing anxiety. We’re standing in line at my new high school, preparing for new student registration. There’s several ahead of us waiting for the doors to open. The suns rays hide behind thick clouds, a glowing grey hovers above us. My mother, occupied by a phone call, pays no mind to just how overwhelming this all is. A senior at a new school. I turn my head, my hair blanketing my ears in an attempt to hide the fear in my eyes. I can hear my heartbeat, a hammer beating against cloth. It’s getting dark and my vision begins to form a black hole. Along with this, my hearing becomes muffled and I can no longer hear the Spanish gossip my mother partakes in. Center placed in my vision surrounded by darkness, I glance at my fingers that no longer appear to belong to me. They form stiff positions, pointing up, down, and side to side. According to the doctor, I experienced a panic attack. He says so casually that it’s totally normal and the next time it happens to breathe in a paper bag to help control my breathing. I couldn’t help but become frustrated at his words. Who the hell carry’s around a paper bag?