Day 41: Don't Panic.

Last night, Phil and I had dinner at Le Bistrot de L'Oulette, an authentic restaurant serving typical French cuisine off of Place des Vosges. We split an appetizer of escargots and then both took the fish special the was delicately sauteed in butter, kissed with lemon and sizzling with absolute heaven. It complimented the glass of Chardonnay from Bourgogne. 
Dinner with Phil was lovely as usual, we started talking to couple sitting at the table next to us who were on vacation from New York. I love talking to visitors because it reminds me of how exciting Paris is to fresh eyes and I force myself to remember my first few months in town.
Perhaps it was the after dinner glass of Lillet or my recent stress about work and my life in general but something didn't feel right and needed to get home. I made it up the six flights of spiral stairs up in to my flat, washed my face, brushed my teeth and crawled right into bed. I woke up an hour later not being able to breathe and shaking. I was having a panic attack. I tried to ride it out and somehow made it over to the sink for a glass of water but it got worse. I was wheezing as I was desperately trying to breathe. I gently lied back down on my bed with my phone, not sure if I should call the ambulance. I decided to call my mother, she wasn't home. I called my Aunt in L.A, she didn't pick up. I called Phil, it went straight to voice mail. I reluctantly called Monsieur Flaneur who accused me of being drunk and hung up. 
The anxiety of not having anyone in a crisis made my attack worse making breathing more complicated. I was scared. Truly scared.
I know MF is is angry with me these days. After the break-up, he wanted to remain friends and stay in contact but at the time I was unable to because it was too painful. It wasn't until I had become stronger, accepted the fact that we will never be together again and became open to the idea of remaining friends that I realized that he only wanted me in his life under the condition that I would still pine over him. His attitude towards me went from arrogantly flirty to condescending pity to now, pure disdain. Unfortunately, he chose the wrong time to express his aggravation and I will never forgive him. Its as if he is stamping his feet over the fact that I have been able to pick up my own pieces and move on before him. It was never a competition. 
Perhaps I was asking for too much? Was I overstepping my boundaries? After the end of a relationship, is it still the other person's responsibility to be available in a crisis?
Bistrot de l'Oulette
38, rue de Tournelles
Paris 75004