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This is the seventh time it’s happened since Colin died, and Bright doesn’t know why.
It’s happened before, of course, but each of those times, Bright could pinpoint what set him off—driving Colin to school, finding out that Colin was dead, attempting to go see the fireworks on the Fourth of July.
Now, though, it’s come out of nowhere. He’s just sitting at his desk working on his math homework when the back of his neck goes hot and his heart starts pounding.
“Fuck,” he breathes, and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping he can just ride this one out, because he has no fucking idea how to make this stop.
Just breathe, his father had said the first time, but Bright can’t. His chest is tight, and every time he tries to draw in a breath, he nearly chokes on it, each exhale descending into coughs.
Bright can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe, and he has no idea why, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop.
Hey, dipshit, says the small part of his brain that’s not currently losing its fucking shit. Just google that shit real quick. It’s fucking 2003, Google’s a thing you can do, dumbass.
Okay. Bright can do that.
He opens a new window on his computer, then realizes he has no goddamn idea what to type. Ephram had said something, at the fireworks, but Bright can’t for his life remember what it was.
shaky cant breathe heart racing nauseous, he types into the search window after a second, hoping that Google will understand the message he’s trying to get across.
Arrhythmia, says Google when he presses enter. Cardiovascular disease. Mental disorder.
Bright thinks it’s pretty clear that he’s lost his damn mind, but he thinks mental disorder is a pretty broad term. He scrolls down.
Panic attack. Oh, shit.
That’s what Ephram had called it, right? A panic attack? He clicks on the link.
Panic attacks are sudden periods of intense fear that may include palpitations, sweating, shaking, shortness of breath, numbness, or a feeling that something bad is going to happen.
Oh, shit. That’s almost definitely it. He scrolls down.
Causes: Panic disorder,
Bright doesn’t think so.
social anxiety disorder,
Nope.
depression,
Nope.
drug use,
He had smoked a joint with Colin once, but it was two and a half years ago, and Bright doesn’t think it quite counts.
post-traumatic stress disorder.
That’s like, for soldiers and stuff, right? Bright probably doesn’t have that, he thinks, but he clicks on the blue letters just to make sure.
Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a mental disorder that can develop after a person is exposed to a traumatic event, such as sexual assault, warfare, traffic collisions, child abuse, or other threats on a person's life.
Bright is gonna guess traffic collisions is a fancy way of saying car accidents, and he thinks it probably counts as a traffic collision even when there’s no other traffic involved, even if it’s just two dumbass kids and a tree.
“Oh, fuck,” he whispers, scrolling down until he reaches a bold heading reading Traumatic Events.
Motor vehicle collision survivors, both children and adults, are at an increased risk of PTSD. Globally, about 2.6% of people are diagnosed with PTSD following a non-life threatening traffic accident. Risk of PTSD almost doubles to 4.6% for life-threatening auto accidents.
Son of a bitch. His thing about driving with other people in the car. The way he got when they went to see the fireworks. Holy fucking shit. This is why.
Bright opens a new tab and shakily types i think i have ptsd.
What Can I Do If I Think I Have PTSD? says the first article that pops up. Bright figures it’s probably a safe bet.
The only way to know for sure if you have PTSD is to talk to a mental health care provider.
What the fuck is a mental health care provider? He knows his Aunt Linda does all that, like, chi shit—western medicine or whatever. Is that mental health care? Or do regular doctors also qualify as mental health care providers?
One google search and three articles later, Bright has concluded that regular doctors are not, in fact, mental health care providers, but he kind of doubts he’s gonna find a psychiatrist in Everwood, and he’d rather not drive all the way to Denver to have someone tell him he’s losing his mind.
There are three regular doctors in Everwood, and two of them are related to him.
It’d be nice to have choices, Bright thinks. But Doc Brown will probably do.