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The red numbers on his digital watch displayed 8:05 when Tom felt the familiar sensation in the pit of his stomach. The mix of electricity and butterflies that preceded an attack. It made him reel. He immediately thought of the little pink tablet he kept in his wallet, his “security blanket”.  He always kept it with him, just in case he couldn’t sleep or if he needed help fighting off his anxiety. It was like a big hug that switched off his feelings and fears. He took it when flying as well, but that was understandable. Going on planes was a scary experience at the best of times.

He could feel the heat in his face and his heart began to pound in his chest. Dr Cameron, his psychologist, had once told him that nobody had ever died from panicking. It was physically impossible, apparently, but during these irrational cascades of terror his words seemed less believable. Tom knew that it couldn’t happen but he feared the worst all the same.

The short, sharp breaths soon followed and Tom was certain that this would be a bad one. The panic was like having little insects crawling in his skull just behind the eyes and the Xanax in his pocket seemed to call out to him. He tried to avoid medication unless absolutely necessary because he felt that it only made things worse in the long run. Dr Cameron agreed.

Regret always came with the panic. Tom thought back to his drug using days and felt shame. Have I done this to myself? He knew that he could at least be more diligent with his exercises. Dr Cameron always seemed so disappointed when he said that he hadn’t been doing his breathing exercises as often as recommended. Admitting that made Tom feel terrible so he often lied about it. This thought led from shame and regret to guilt. It was the uneasy feeling that his problems were his own fault and that he has no-one to blame but himself. Two years of talking to the good doctor had taught him to take responsibility for his issues and stop shifting blame. It didn’t always help.

 The incendiary heat in Tom’s face assaulted him and his heart palpitated violently.  He put his hand to his breast and felt the rapid thud.  Can no-one hear that?  He peered around the packed morning tram but no-one was paying any attention to him. He hoped that the feeling passed before he got to work, he was tired enough as it is. Of course that doesn’t help at all. Fuck!  Dr Cameron urged him to adopt regular sleeping patterns.

“It all helps,” Dr Cameron would say. “Exercise everyday, do your breathing, sleep well, eat well. You will start to feel better.”

Sometimes you just don’t have the time for all that. But deep down Tom knew he was just lazy.  How hard is it to set aside an hour a day? Beats freaking out on this fucking tram. I need to get to work. Errrr.

The stomach pains and the shaking started almost simultaneously, as if on cue. His hands shook first, then the rest of his arms. What will people think? I’m shaking like a leaf here. Maybe Dr Cameron will be available. Should I call him? Fuck!  The stomach pain was the worst. Like a need to vomit but not from food. Just a sharp reminder that he couldn’t relax. It was a truly unique sensation; Tom felt like there was something inside him. There is! This anxiety monster, this sleeping cunt. Why? Fucking why?

Tom almost felt like crying. He hated feeling scared and powerless, at the mercy of his own shortcomings. What if it doesn’t stop? What then? Maybe just half a Xanoe then? Just to switch it off. Errrrrrrrrrr. I’ll give it five minutes. He glanced down at his watch. 8:08. Only three minutes had passed but it felt like three years. He tried to regulate his breathing, to slow it down, but that proved impossible. His attempt to force a smile was foiled by his lips shaking. He unballed his fists and focused on his knuckles, white from being clenched up.

Gotta focus on something. Just relax and do your breathing exercises. Tom closed his eyes and tried to relax. He began by thinking of his toes and making them relax. He moved his thoughts up to his thighs and focused on stopping them moving. His breath slowed a little as he moved his focus up to the groin area. He realized that he needed to piss badly and moved on to his belly. Getting there! Come on!  He felt a bit less hot now, maybe just really warm. The breathing technique was helping, relaxing Tom from the feet up. Next was the chest. The chest was always the toughest part. Focussing on the chest always made him aware of his violently throbbing heart. As he began to breathe he put his hand to his heart and felt it slow a little. A few deep breaths now. In, two, three. Out, two, three. In, two, three. Out, two, three. Yes that’s it!

Tom moved from his chest to his shoulders and then to his arms. Easy enough. When his focus came to his hands he checked the time. 8:10. Fuck! Surely not only two minutes! I should have been a better person, nicer to Mum. Maybe this is punishment. Tom shook off the feeling of disbelief and continued with the breathing. His hands settled a little but hadn’t stopped shaking entirely. Now pick something nice to focus on. He thought of Sally. They had been on a couple of dates and Tom was pretty sure that she liked him.  Yeah that feels good. Maybe she’ll stay over this weekend.

The pressure on his bladder got worse with those kinds of thoughts. Maybe that relaxing exercise isn’t all good. It’s ok, keep thinking nice thoughts. Nearly at work now. 8:12. Fuck the time goes slowly. Music. Yes!  Tom fumbled and clicked play on his iPOD shuffle and the Kings of Leon started playing. Errrrr. Not now. Fucking Kings of Leon. He pressed skip. What next?  Slayer. Nope. Click. Fuck yes. Beethoven. Kinda relaxing, I guess. The ninth was one of his favourites.  Time to go.

Tom stood up and walked to the tram door. He was standing up a stop earlier than usual. Still no-one looked at him. Fucking Melbourne. No-one gives a shit about anyone else. Fuck it. A walk will be nice.

The chilly air hit Tom and a little shudder escaped him. There was something comforting about being in the cold. It gave him something else to think about. He exhaled and a wisp of fog came out. Dr Cameron had taught him to use his breath as an anchor; it helps him choose where his focus would be directed. To be in control of how he felt!

Tom usually slacked off when he was tired or hungover. That was how the laziness started but now he couldn’t be bothered most of the time. When he told Dr. Cameron about this, he said that those are the times when you need to practice breathing techniques the most. Practicing when you are not feeling great gives you strength for other moments of weakness, apparently. At that point Tom resolved to be honest with himself and try harder. It has to help stop this kind of bullshit from happening. Maybe I’ll even start exercising more. Ha! Even exercising a little more would be a vast improvement. Tom lit a smoke and inhaled deeply. He loved smoking. It probably contributed to his recent aversion to physical exercise. He quickened his pace towards work and saw a homeless person sitting outside McDonald’s holding a sign.  Fucking idiot.....Actually, fuck it. He probably has more need than I do. Tom fished in his pocket and found a five dollar note. He handed it to the bum and kept walking without looking back. He smiled.