leaves on my Arms

I am over stimulated. It is one of the worst feelings I feel sometimes regularly. This time the fan that is background noise is suddenly the forefront of my brain. The hairs on my arm I feel as they move with circulating air. I imagine then my arm hairs being a forest of leaves waving in the Pennsylvania fall wind. My instinct is to now move form where I am at because now, I can hear the wind moving, the fan is loud, I have leaves on my arm and I cannot get them off. while I am sitting still trying to be normal my mind is flailing my arms around to get the leaves off because even though they are figuratively attached to me, they must come off. I feel my heart racing because I am now telling my brain everything is okay it is just the hairs on my arm. My supervisor is mildly annoyed at something that doesn’t involve me and I have somehow made it my fault because my thoughts are so loud maybe she hears them. At this point my heart starts to increase and I can sit still because my brain is saying run since I still can’t get the leaves off my arms by flailing and maybe I need to run to get them off. Now here we are. I feel the anxiety start to increase and in my desperate attempt to act normal I start opening my cabinet drawer and pretend I am looking for something and then close it. I open it again and close. Feeling like I am one more breath from exploding, drowning in my surrounds stuck in an overfilled water balloon. The boys start to play Call of Duty, and I am so worried my supervisor can hear my loud thoughts I look to where else I can sit because there are leaves on my arm and they might touch her arm. This is when I realize I can do something about it and tell my supervisor ill be right outside. We are doing nothing right now at work and I am sitting here feeling like I am running away from a busy day; I get a hold of myself since I still have leaves attached to my arms. So, I put headphones in, play some library music, and pulled up a blank page. I hate blank pages the potential taunting me, but I hate leaves on my arms the most. I start counting my breaths to the words that I type slowing lowering my head from the clouds as the leaves start dissolving from the air around me. I start to feel the clothes on my body, the glasses sitting on my nose. I hear the instruments of the music versus the blood echoing through my ears. My heart is no longer pounding a beat trying to escape from the cage in my chest. Vivaldi jumps on the playlist. My thoughts are no longer screaming at the same time begging for my attention. I slowly become aware of the too hot hallway, the sweat beading around the bumps on my nose. Suddenly I am aware of the lace tucked under my foot in my boot. The leaves on my arm are replaced by the hairs that I no longer can feel. The thoughts are now a train coming in one after another a perfectly machined system run by pure chaos. I am at the center in a mode that I can identify the individual thoughts and feelings I can become aware of my senses. The world around me becomes a motion picture versus the horror film I imagined.