I am trying to keep this blog what I intended it to be, light and airy. Silly and entertaining, but unfortunately there are unforeseen events that we must face. That’s what life is. A list of unforeseen events and how we respond shapes who we are and what we’re all about. At this point my depression has kicked up. Yes, I take anxiety and depression medicine but sometimes the medicine doesn’t do the trick.
Last night I had a major panic attack around one in the morning. The walls were closing in and my nose was so stuffed up that couldn’t breathe (even though I could). My husband says I should wake him when it happens but that’s the last thing I want, someone talking to me telling me I’ll be fine. I’m not fucking fine. If I was fine I’d be asleep in bed, not wandering the house looking for air.
A real panic attack is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in life. When it hits, I cannot breathe and you and anything around me is closing in and taking up my space. And then the panic gets worse.
Even my own bedroom walls are too close. I prefer to be outside or in a large area. I do not want people to see me yet wish I had someone who understood and could comfort. But this is like a double edged sword. I want comfort yet, don’t touch me, don’t tell me I am ok. Don’t try to make me see what really is in front of me becuase I cannot see it. The world is closing in on me like a candle flame flickering in search of air only to grow smaller and smaller, flicker less and less, and eventually burn out. There isn’t any oxygen left.
My mind plays tricks on me when I have an attack. It tells me I’m dying, that there isn’t any air left and it can’t get to your lungs anyway. I’m that flame. I reach for something. Air? Hope? Something in a bottle. I try to tell myself to stop but usually end up coughing and gagging, once again exacerbating the whole mess.
Once it happened in the smallest hotel in Philly. It was so small that I couldn’t bring myself to enter the more confined hallway to get out of the building, becuase that corridor from Hell led to the smallest elevator known to mankind.
Instead, I pryed open a window that had been painted shut out of pure fear and desperation and stuck my head out the window to breathe real air.
I cannot be reasoned with in these times. I cannot be made to listen, and Lord God as my witness do not touch or hug me. Do not make my space any smaller.
So do not expect me to go looking for your help. I won’t. I will instead search out fresh and open air.
Once, on a different trip, I sat in a hotel coutyard for smoking or fresh air on the 7th floor in downtown Philly for hours in the frigid weather at 2:30am watching, waiting, listening and breathing. Just me and the sirens in the cold dark night. And it is incredibly lonely. Sitting hoping not to die. The panic attack triggers more anxiety and depression and terrible thoughts. I wish someone could help me, sit with me, fix me. But that never works out. It took time that night in Philly atop the hotel, a lot of time, but eventually I came in, went back to the room and went to bed. I wish the effects stopped there but I know the morning after will be difficult.
I wish they had a morning after pill for these attacks. Something to stop the worry. Something to lighten the depression.
I would pay a lot of money for that pill.
I am still recovering from last night’s exhausting episode. My body is tired and my mind is cannot focus. I feel lost in a fog and hope it will not happen again. I need more closeness to keep away the fear that creeps in. And also worry that the closeness will bring the paranoia. It’s a fine and tiring line. It follows no rhyme or reason. It is unpredictable and does not discriminate time or location.
I hope that tomorrow will be lighter than today. I must hold into that hope. Sometimes it’s just to hard to see tomorrow in the fog.