sandwich 02.04.08 1:28 p.m.
So...
I've been having anxiety attacks fairly regularly again. This is an ouroboros with many dimensions, in that, once I have an attack, I start worrying about the things which triggered it even more. Then I have more attacks. That's one level. The next level up is when I try to do something about it, which makes me really self-concious about my behaviour, my environments, my priorities. The more I try to focus on making my life simple/organized/less stressful, the more stress I feel. It makes me self-concious and hyperfocused on meaningless-though-stressful details, and I find myself freaking out yet again. The level after is when I can't even think anymore. A mere attempt at naming even one factor in my stress/anxiety level, just in my mind, will set off a whirlwind and my heart will in turn start to beat faster, my breathing become more shallow, etc, until I am having a full-on attack.
To break those down: There's the mini-attack, which is basically me feeling wound-up, edgy, headachey, insomia-y, and unhealthy, and is probably akin to what not-defective people (that's all of you) feel when they are stressed out about something big. The midi-attack is when things aren't going well and I've been letting it roll off my back (which actually means "repressing and internalizing stress and upset"), and I feel like I'm about to cry any second now but it's not coming, like a sneeze that never gets past that awful tickly feeling in your sinuses. That's usually when I say I have to leave for no apparent reason, and you wonder what you did because I look so damned upset, but I won't tell you, and you think I'm being a big baby because as far as you know, nothing's wrong. The full-attack is when I can't stop pacing, my throat is closing up, my heart is doing about four billion BPM, and there are tears streaming down my face from all of the physical pressure in my head. Simultaneously, there is a white noise of information and anxiety racing around my head, and any time I try to make it stop so I can calm myself out of the attack, even to simply discern a single word, the emotional equivalent of searing pain courses through my mind, and often induces involuntary noise to come out of my. I'd say it was a scream, but by the time it's this bad, my throat is often too tight to make big sounds, and it comes out as a squeak or a whistle. Finally, I'll get light-headed from the physical symptoms and try not to crash too hard into whatever surface I've found to lie down/sprawl/pass out on. If I'm in the company of someone else, they'll usually try to get me to breathe into a bag, place my head between my knees or lie down on a soft surface. I'm grateful for help, but the embarrassment factor is incredibly high.
And let's discuss that other vicious circle, shall we? Do I really want to tell my boss that I can't work today because I've had an attack and now I can't even leave the house without panicking? Of course not, I'd look like a fool who can't just Snap Out Of It like a grown-up and Pull Herself Up By Her Bootstraps. And that's if he even has an idea of what an anxiety attack is. I'm better off if he doesn't, because then I can just tell him it's a physical condition which makes it difficult for me to breathe, and be Taken Seriously.
Notice all the capitalisation? That's to indicate things I've been told too many times and which have absolutely no meaning to me anymore, except as phrases which help trigger and/or are part of the white noise while having an anxiety attack. Not to be so bitter about it, but damn, could you lay off the tired lingo, please? It makes my head hurt.
After an attack I generally have a bad headache. I'll be thirsty and kind of nauseous, and mostly I'll want to go to sleep. If it happens when I'm with other people, I'll feel withdrawn and nervous, and depending on the circumstances, fairly agitated. Last night, for example, I wasn't able to shut op for a second, and I was repeating myself to the point of exasperation. I woke up feeling the way one does when they have a hangover and fuzzy memories of dancing on tables with a lampshade on their head. Again, embarrassment. Embarrassment makes me want to avoid similar situations for fear of doing the same, embarrassing things, so I panic about the possibility. Dreading social gatherings, avoiding meeting new people and getting really quiet/talkative when I do, apologizing for pretty much everything, even when absolutely nothing which could possibly require anything even vaguely resembling an apology has occurred.
The embarrassment stays with me, lumps itself all over the other, more organic stressors (school, job, taxes, the usual), coats them like a thick, beery batter (but a really bitter, foul-tasting one) and fluffs them up to the size of monumental emergencies. HOLY FUCK, I NEED TO CLEAN MY HOUSE OR EVERYONE WILL THINK I'M A FILTHY SLUT! IF I DON'T FINISH THIS ASSIGNMENT, I WILL FLUNK OUT OF SCHOOL AND ALL THOSE HIGH SCHOOL TEACHERS WILL BE RIGHT ABOUT MY BEING A LAZY, WORTHLESS DRAG ON SOCIETY! I'M GOING TO BE AUDITED AND THROWN IN PRISON OVER A MATTER OF $200 BY THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT, AND EVERYONE WILL BELIEVE I'M A VERY BAD PERSON! Etc, etc.
I am completely and utterly aware of how stupid it is to think this way. I do not need or want anyone to tell me, especially because I will think you think I am stupid for requiring your pointing it out. (You can think my grammar and spelling are stupid all you want; I certainly do.)
Last night I was trying desperately to find a safe place and realized I had none. I was at school, the very act of attending is a trigger in and of itself these days, and I had arrived late. I grabbed the first available seat, which was stupid, because said seat was at the front of the room, next to the prof, where everyone was looking anyway. So right away, I'm being inadvertently stared at. I won't even go into the details of how I feel about the class, since it's the sort of stuff normally labelled as "crazy" and "irrational". I then went to work, where I was supposed to meet up with co-workers before attending another co-worker's dinner party. While waiting, I checked the schedule and saw how many hours I have this week. I realised how much school work I have to complete in the next week and began to worry about how I would finish it all in time. I though about ditching some shifts, only to realise that I need them desperately in order to afford my rent this week. After that I was reminded of the Hydro, Videotron and phone bills I have waiting, and started to feel really trapped by my obligations. I looked for a comfortable place to sit down and either write it out or read, but the store was packed with people. I went upstairs to the storeroom, which was, as usual, crowded with boxes, freezing cold, and noisy with the buzz of climate control units, refrigerators and plumbing. I'll spare you a redundant explanation of how the attack built up, but needless to say, it did. I spent an hour doing that, then went downstairs to try and find a solution for work. Ms. I was there, and asked me what was wrong, so I choked out, feeling rather exasperated and embarrassed, that I was having an anxiety attack due to school stress (the simplest answer is usually best), and that I was having trouble breathing. After her and Ms. K's very sweet efforts to help me chill out, I collected the people I'd come to collect, and led them to the party, where my head pounded and my mouth ran off. Then I did the stupidest thing I could have possibly done in the history of stupid things I've done: I smoked a joint. I waited about half an hour through a fog of severe paranoia before calling it a night and trying to get out as fast as humanly possible, which, since there were three people present who were leaving on long trips the next day, and hence hugs and salutations were being exchanged, was not very fast at all.
Guess who called in sick to work this morning? Yeah. That's right. And what did I say? That I had to stay in bed, is that okay? I'm sorry! Are you sure it's okay? I-I-I-I just can't come in. I'm sorry. Okay? Thank you so much.
Boyfriend came over for lunch, but I couldn't even walk three blocks to the bakery with him. I got as far as the front door, turned around and went back upstairs. Just being around strangers, or even the possibility of being around strangers, was enough to make my heart start thundering.
The deli's sending a sandwich as I type this. Hahaha.
School counselling services: one month waiting list. CLSC: haven't looked into it yet; don't you have to pay for that? I've got no dosh, anyhow, so that rules out a private therapist. What if they want me to go back on pills? When I started this journal, it was because the pills hadn't worked, and had recovered from what was arguably the worst episode of anxiety and anxiety-triggered self-harm possible (as relative to me). So I'm back. Spilling my guts again. And maybe I'll become a happy person again, someday, after I've embarrassed myself in public like this enough times.
Sandwich is here; gotta go.
listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)
previously on Smothered Hope:
unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08