A/N. So this is somewhat similar to my 'Insomnia' fic it leaves the identity of the main character anonymous and it's something I struggle with off and on. Just know that I wrote this last night while under the influence of the worst panic attack I've ever had in my life so it may be a little dark. I kind of freaked myself out while reading it today. But it had to be written to help clear my mind. A huge thanks to Unbelievably Cliché for talking to me last night until my Internet decided to stop working. I would have been a lot worse if I didn't have her to remind me that I wasn't alone. Anyway, read on at your own risk. I don't own anything.

You're a butterfly, sailing along on a light breeze on a beautiful day. The sky is blue, lit with the sun's rays that warm your wings when you stop to rest. The day has gone so smoothly and you're happy and at peace. All is well.

As you take off, something snags at your wing, stopping your flight and tugging you backwards and down. The silvery line of a spiderweb has caught you. The panic is dim at first as it takes you a little while to recognize the danger. Then, when you realize what is happening, you flutter, trying to break free. But the more you struggle, the more tangled you become, twisting and turning, getting lost in the death trap.

Your frantic motions alert the spider who is waiting at the top of his web. He drops down to investigate, sees his prey, sees you, and is delighted. He sets to work quickly, grabbing at you with his legs, fighting to hold you still. Once he has some sort of control over you, he begins to wrap more thread around you so that he can finish you off. It's getting hard to breathe at this point. The wrappings hold you motionless, tightening and tightening with each layer. Each breath seems as though it will be your last. Suffocation is inevitable. You refuse to just give in though. You continue to fight for a control that you'll never get back. You continue to fight to free yourself even though you know perfectly well that it's a lost cause. Your vision is clouding around the edges, a combination of the wrapping threads blinding you and the lack of oxygen that is entering and leaving your tiny lungs. You open your mouth in a silent scream and then the spider has completely covered you with his binding threads.

Then suddenly, you really can't move at all. The threads around you are so tight that you're rendered completely helpless. By now, breathing has become virtually impossible. The end is near. You can only wait for it to come, welcoming the sweet relief that will be the penultimate event in your undoing. Darkness overtakes you.

But you can still feel even though you wish you could be numb to everything. You feel the spider's jaws dig past the thread and into your delicate being. He begins to suck your blood, draining your very life from you. There's no stopping it, you can only wait it out.

The whole world is fading. Everything disappears until it's you and the spider. You're holding on, not because you want to but because the spider seems to take great joy in torturing his victims, giving then a slow and and painful death even though you want so badly for the end to come as quickly and as painlessly as possible. The agony is unbearable but you must bear it. You have no choice. It's a way of life, death is.

Your captor gives you a jerk and inside, your weakening body quakes and writhes, longing for it to be over. Longing for the end. You're not worth anything anymore. Even if by some miracle, you were freed, you wouldn't want to live. You've been stripped of everything. Your beauty. Your dignity. Your pride. Your wings are tattered and torn and utterly useless. They wouldn't even be pleasant to look at. Anyone who might be so unfortunate as to actually see you would shudder in horror at the broken disgrace that you've become.

There isn't much left of you. The spider drains you of the very last drop of blood in you and finally, when it no longer matters, releases you. Your body falls from the web and hits the ground with a thud. There you will lay in your crude tomb until something else happens. Maybe a bird will mistake you for a worm or maybe a heavy foot will tread upon you, breaking you even further. Maybe you'll simply sink into the earth and have a proper burial. It doesn't matter though. You're not alive to care.

Of course this isn't the way it really happens. In real life you're a human being, strong on the outside but with a heart as fragile as a butterfly's wing. It doesn't matter how smoothly your day went. It's at night when it can take a simple thought, one thread, to snare you.

Once you're in, there's no way out except the end that you can only wait for. In between, you struggle to break free because there's always a part of you that hopes you won't have to go through the worst part. But the more you try to free yourself from that one thought, the more ensnared you become. Thoughts like the spider's web continue to grab at you and cling to you with an unrelenting force. The line between true and false is blurred so that you can no longer distinguish reality from dreams.

Then you're being wrapped so tightly in these thoughts that it impairs your breathing. Tears come to your eyes and stream down your face and you try to focus on the mere task of breathing but it's ridiculously hard. Your vision is blurry now and you open your mouth to call for help but no sound comes out. You can't move. You're helpless and alone. You're doomed. You cling to you pillow, desperate for something, anything, to hold on to as the darkness begins to swallow you up.

Then despair sinks its razor sharp fangs into you and begins to drain the happiness from you. Your mind is plagued by thoughts of losing loved ones to death or to distance or to abandonment or to simply growing apart. You'll spend an eternity alone. It will be empty and meaningless. Your heart is aching so painfully that you wonder for an instant if you're too young to have a heart attack. It hurts so much that it must be giving out. Every happy thought is being sucked out of you, even as you try to fight back and recall those memories that made you so happy earlier. It's as if they never existed.

What would people think of you now, if they saw you in your weakest state? Would they be disappointed that you're nowhere near as strong as you seem? Would they walk away from you, disgusted by the truth? Or would they accept that you're just as broken as they are and take you into their arms and offer all the comfort that they have to give? All you want is for someone to show that they care and hold you and make you feel safe. But the fear of cold, hard rejection is just another thread that has been wrapped around you so you stay silent through it all. You're terrified of speaking up, calling for help, only to find that you really are all alone after all.

You're getting weaker and weaker with each passing second. You've stopped fighting and by now you're just wishing you could pass out and wake up in the morning, ready to start fresh and new. You close your eyes and breath as deep a sigh as you can manage with your lungs still so constricted. You wait for the blessed unconsciousness that is your only escape.

Then, the long awaited miracle comes and rescues you. It pulls you free from your trap and sets you on firm and steady ground. There you continue to lay uselessly and helplessly as your neglected lungs take in the air they've been deprived of for three hours. You breathe in the sweet smell of freedom and you're grateful that you're not a butterfly. Because you've lived to face another day.

A/N. I just have to explain that my biggest fear is being left alone forever. It's completely irrational but there is no rationality in panic attacks. I can't control my thoughts. So that's what this was about. The butterfly metaphor. . . let me know what you think about it because everything made sense last night and right now I'm too exhausted to make any more judgments. Another thanks to Unbelievably Cliché! I'm going to try and get some rest right now.