Panic

I thought I was past the point in my life where I fell hopelessly in love, or at least out of that game for a good while. It's been at least five years since the last time I experienced that feeling. But despite my damnedest efforts, I think it might be happening. I'm trying to reign it in but keep finding myself hoping I see him out in public and grinning uncontrollably when he's around, or even when I just think of him too much. I send him texts half as often as I'd like because I love interacting with him but don't want to seem too needy. It kind of makes me panic. I don't think the sentiment is returned, and even if it were, I don't think I'm ready to do this again. Maybe. I don't know. Fuck. I guess the plan is to continue as I have, maintain a safe distance for as long as possible, enjoy the situation as it stands, and be ready to flee at the first clear sign that I'm in over my head. Here goes nothin'.

Oh, look. I've posted here before, imagine that. The panic beastie, usually tamed, curls in now and again. Patchy mange dripping fur and a toothsome smile, and if meditation doesn't control it, scare it off, then I have to pop a pill. Jesus pleasus.

I just read the blue post on this word, and I realize that the thoughts going through our head are very similar. I wonder about the connection between anxiety disorders and other, purely physical illness, one causing the other causing the one causing the other, or coincidence?

Now that I have some control (and medication) I'm insanely afraid of a full fledged panic attack. The kind of fear that makes you stink. Everytime I'm having a small one, and I can see it's going to be huge, and there's nothing I can do, I just want to die. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. I can't do this again. no no no no not now not ever.

My therapist told me to find a calm spot in my body, a place the anxiety hasn't gotten to, and focus on it, feel it as much as possible, and picture spreading it.

But sometimes there isn't a calm spot. Stomach and chest, certainly not, that's where it starts. Arms are tensed, fingers curled in tight (I have a number of scars on my palms my fingernails made from clenching my hands) My legs won't hold still. My skin crawls, my internal organs are crawling up my esophagus. Not one spot.

So then I'm fucked. I can take another Ativan, but that takes around an hour to kick in. I wish they'd give me something fast acting, a kit with a hypodermic and something injectable, or something that goes from your mouth into your bloodsteam like Claritantabs.

I don't dare ask though, because I'm a recovering junkie.

I hope some day that I can be alright without pills and chemicals, but if I can be alright on them, for the rest of my life, I'm not going to argue.

Just to be okay would be enough.

Not that I'll ever be okay. I haven't been once in 21 years, why would it start?

Oh yeah. This. We have inadvertently made life a zillion times stressful than the life we've been living for thousands of years. I'm not saying stressful things didn't happen. I'm sure the Black Plaugue was not a relaxing experience. I'm talking about constant stress, the kind that everyone else seems to hadle just peachy keen. I panic. I'm beginning to belive more people have panic problems than anyone thinks, they just don't want to admit it. Panic sneaks up on me. I'm on the couch, watching MST3K with Owen and Nickademus (boyfriend and friendfriend, respectively) And BOOM I'm starting to panic. Millions of crazy worries that don't even effect my life now. "Am I infertile? Oh God, will Owen ditch me if I am? I can't be without him. I can't be alone. I can't I can't I can't." I always picture some demon has some sort of magical parchment or something to that effect, and he writes every worry I could possible have on a strip of it, threads it through my ears, and then just pulls it from side to side in a flossing motion, causing all these worries to run through my head. During this, I start to shake. My eyes dart back and forth, and my body gets outrageously tense. I'm so immobilized, it seems like I've bonded with the couch/chair/bed/carseat/floor. I cannot get up and do something to kill some anxiety, be it cleaning something that I'm stressing over because it's dirty, Or just foing something, anything to distract myself.