I have only had an anxiety (or panic) attack twice. Once was severe, I was not at home, and I was pretty sure I was dying. I ended up laying down in the middle of the kitchen floor, in someone else's house, while they slept. I didn't even know this person that well and the sight of me, drenched in sweat, had to be a little disconcerting. I also realized that after it was over, I had to use the bathroom, like never before. Something I've confirmed is an odd side effect shared by many. The second time was much milder but still scary. This feeling of helplessness, pounding chest, hyperventilation, and a serious feeling of disorientation. The same side effects occurred immediately after.
The one thing that has always made me question whether all these people on social media battling anxiety or telling the truth or not is this: Both times, I was completely ruined for the day. I was shaky, out-of-sorts, scared, alone, despite the time being with someone, and about as vulnerable as a human being could possibly feel, despite being completely safe from any danger. This feeling lasted at least twelve hours. The idea that someone could go right back to work or go outside, even have a conversation with someone, seems ludicrous to me. I was temporarily incapacitated and just getting up to get a glass of water brought on the dread of a repeat. Which brings me to the last few days and nights.
I know it's coming. I can feel it coming on and I fight it with everything I have. I tell myself it's nothing and that the pressure of life that is bringing it on is not going to defeat me. I gently stroke Swag, knowing that he may sense my fear. I look out the window at the stars, the moon, the gentle sway of the trees and try to get caught up in the calming effects nature has on me. I think about good things in other people's lives that make me happy. I feel the tension in my chest and the slight detachment from reality, but not in the good way one might get from alcohol or (I assume) drugs. I know that what is going on and I try to combat it. I breathe slowly and deeply, paying more attention to my breath than one would ever. I whisper encouragement to myself, admittedly stuff that most would find silly. As it starts to pass, I lose focus on the window, my breathing, and stop stroking Swag's head and back. He yawns, almost as if to say "I knew this wasn't anything," and rolls over or turns away. I come back to this state of normal or as normal as it gets and take solace in its passing. I know it's coming and that scares me. I hope I'm home, alone, when it happens. I fear it, but I also wish to get it over with. To be honest, that's become a regular feeling lately. With everything. I just want so much of what is going on to be over, so I can't stop living with this hanging over me.
Maybe today will be the day things change.
The one thing that has always made me question whether all these people on social media battling anxiety or telling the truth or not is this: Both times, I was completely ruined for the day. I was shaky, out-of-sorts, scared, alone, despite the time being with someone, and about as vulnerable as a human being could possibly feel, despite being completely safe from any danger. This feeling lasted at least twelve hours. The idea that someone could go right back to work or go outside, even have a conversation with someone, seems ludicrous to me. I was temporarily incapacitated and just getting up to get a glass of water brought on the dread of a repeat. Which brings me to the last few days and nights.
I know it's coming. I can feel it coming on and I fight it with everything I have. I tell myself it's nothing and that the pressure of life that is bringing it on is not going to defeat me. I gently stroke Swag, knowing that he may sense my fear. I look out the window at the stars, the moon, the gentle sway of the trees and try to get caught up in the calming effects nature has on me. I think about good things in other people's lives that make me happy. I feel the tension in my chest and the slight detachment from reality, but not in the good way one might get from alcohol or (I assume) drugs. I know that what is going on and I try to combat it. I breathe slowly and deeply, paying more attention to my breath than one would ever. I whisper encouragement to myself, admittedly stuff that most would find silly. As it starts to pass, I lose focus on the window, my breathing, and stop stroking Swag's head and back. He yawns, almost as if to say "I knew this wasn't anything," and rolls over or turns away. I come back to this state of normal or as normal as it gets and take solace in its passing. I know it's coming and that scares me. I hope I'm home, alone, when it happens. I fear it, but I also wish to get it over with. To be honest, that's become a regular feeling lately. With everything. I just want so much of what is going on to be over, so I can't stop living with this hanging over me.
Maybe today will be the day things change.
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