Panic Essay -- Personal Narrative Writing

PanicWe loaded up the car and headed out to driveway 30. I had made this shimmy several cartridge holders before, but this time it was star way. I had been excited toas I saw it outfox on with my life, but this day I was feeling less than enthusiastic. I figured it was the hassle of moving this would be the second time my parents and I had transferred my things from home to a dorm room. This time my sister was along to supply a hand. We finally pulled up to the institutional-style brick building that was to be my home for the succeeding(prenominal) three years. The August weather was typically hot and humid, but feeling at the dormitorys stark exterior, I suddenly matte up a chill. As we entered the stuffy structureit had no air teachall my thoughts became focused on the m all trips we would have to make up and down the three flights of stairs. Once a sufficient number of boxes were in the small room, I began to unpack while my father made the be trips to the car. As I arran ged my new personal space, I forgot any reservations and actually became rather energized. My roommate had not yet arrived, and my sister and I joked and laughed while we hung photographs and relived the events they depicted. When the mysterious roommate finally made her entrance, the room throw off silent. I have never been comfortable with new people, and we were from such unalike backgrounds that I could find no commonality to unite us immediately. It would only when take time, I had decided, and that was something of which I assumed we had plenty. Since I was almost through with my side of the room, and my roommate and her parents were not scarce chatty, my family and I decided to go out for dinner before they made the return trip. We went to a close restaurant, though we di... ... to the sink, but I could not bring myself to look in the mirror. I washed my face again, sipped some water from my cupped hand, and shakily returned to my room. At some point in my stupor, I had decided to call my engender at six oclock, when I knew she would be waking up for work. I found my phone card and made another trip to the end of the hall, this time to the pay phone. I felt so small I could have been slithering across the floor. I had to tell her exactly what I had just been through, and that she had been right I was not ready to go away again. I would have to return home with my tail mingled with my legs and face something that I had always had trouble admitting I needed help. I never wanted to spend another night like the one I had just endured. At the time, I still had no thought process what had happened to me, but I will never forget that first and get through panic attack.