***I wrote this on December 11th, 2016. I’m going to post it as is, I won’t add to it.***
I keep pacing the floors of our house, repeating the same thing over and over and over again. I’m anxious, unfocused and can’t sit still. I’ve looked in our fridge over 10 times in the last 20 minutes. The contents don’t change, they stay the same. But my mind tells me that I haven’t done that yet and so I remember I’ve looked in the fridge as I’m standing looking into the fridge.
Most times when I get like that I force myself to sit down and do mindless tasks. But even that seems like too much. I’ve closed and reopened the same app at least 20 times in the last 10 minutes. And now here I am going through my blog, reading old posts and remembering what was happening to me at this time last year or even the year before.
I think I’ve done the November blog post a day the last couple of years. I signed up for it this year and because of where I was mentally and physically I just opted not to write on the blog. I spent countless hours writing but saving it on my phone, uploading it or writing it with pen and paper. It’s always interesting when I’m done writing to see how many pages of paper I’ve filled.
The last one I did was 19 pages front and back. It was me writing out how the last session with my counselor would go, what my responses would be and what I wanted to talk about. I can laugh about that now… it never goes as planned, as the way I have it written down and hoped it would go.
When I got to my session, I looked at her and literally pulled out my stack of 19 pages and said this is the conversation I had with you last night. It went great and I think we figured out a lot… but things never go as planned do they?! And then we chuckled, me more because I was irritated that I was about to cry and I felt so incredibly bare. I.Love.Control. Anyway I can have it I take it. Especially when it comes to matters of the heart, of my past and the such. I need to be able to control that part of me. And she (meaning me) just doesn’t like to listen to reason. So I end up feeling small and alone and vulnerable. I don’t like that.
I’m hovering between panic attacks currently. I’m mostly okay with that, but mostly just not. Only in the last 10 years or so have I been having them, for a while they stayed dormant. I liked that stage. The quiet of not having to pay close attention to or watch my every word.
They’ve been intermittent for the past two years, me mainly ignoring them and the issues that come along with them. I’ve been somewhat forced to start dealing with them since December, mostly because they started a pattern. I don’t like patterns when it comes to those types of things.
In January I made a conscious outloud decision to deal with the panic attacks and the real reason behind them. It wasn’t a light decision. I started out with just saying I was going to seek out and find an affordable counselor. That was handled by me finding SafePlace. I’m glad I started there, though the journey since has been incredibly intense and annoying and interesting. I am happy that was my first step.
My next verbal step was 30 days of yoga and meditation. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but let me tell you… those 30 days were long, intense, educational, life altering, interesting most days just downright comical. I only say that because how else does one laugh off their own fears and insecurities?!
I believe by day 10, I was FOR ABSOLUTELY SURE that I had lost all of the marbles I had in my head. Some days I still wonder if I got any of them back. I can’t explain to you what sitting still is like. But give it a try. Sit with yourself, no distractions, no music, no phones, nothing. Just sit for 5 minutes everyday for one week all by yourself, with nobody but you and your thoughts. If you keep an open mind you can learn so much about yourself. Yoga is similar in that way as well. I’ve been told the poses that are the hardest for you tell a lot about you and how you deal with things when life gets hard. I can atest to that 100%. There are some poses I refuse to do, just because I know what my reaction will be and I am not ready to deal with it or myself. Yoga is an extension of meditation. Another way to quiet the mind if done fully and correctly. Let’s just say I’ve had several panic attacks and crying on my mat… in a studio setting… not my cup of tea, but I was caught off guard and so there I sat paralyzed to my spot fighting through the emotions that came up. When I’m off, I try not to go to a studio. I don’t like dealing with my intense emotions out in public. You know being all vulnerable and shit…
Here’s my biggest fears when it comes to the panic attacks I have… my biggest fears are not being able to function as an adult, as a parent, as a spouse, as anything that has to deal with the many hats I wear. I fear not being able to drive myself where I need to go, I fear not being able to control the attacks, I fear being placed on a meditation to help. I fear having panic attacks on a consistent basis like I’ve been having over the last week. My biggest fear with that also, that I am not given a warning sign anymore when they will start. They just start. I have come to realize that is not okay.
I had several panic attacks in session today, thought I was good to go by the end of session. Got in my car to drive home, ended up having to sit in my car for almost two hours until I was okay enough to get home. That alone freaked me out and I panicked even more. Let me tell you, being gripped by fear sucks ass.
Having my life controlled (sometimes) by fear is not okay to be. It leaves me frustrated and angry. And with the overall feeling of this isn’t FAIR! Why, why, why, why…?! You know all of the WHY questions victims and survivors have. I won’t name them.
I was asked what would it be like to really sit with that frustration and express it in any form that my body needed to.
I.Refused.
I suppressed it, it felt horrible pushing it back down, stuffing it in a box on a high shelf. I didn’t close the door on it, I wanted to so bad. But I couldn’t. But I did refuse to express it. I let a handful of tears fall down my face, I took some deliberate deep breaths and I gathered myself all the way together. That my friends is not how to handle the situation. Don’t do what I did. Maybe next time I will scream, kick, thrash about and cry. Or maybe just maybe, I might hold my composure, let a few tears fall and suck it up. Because friends, that’s been my life. No time, space or energy to be sad and angry and upset. I always had to find a way to make it work, otherwise my struggle thus far was for not.
I’m hoping I will one day be able to feel safe enough to just express what I’m feeling. For now, I will sit with my panic attacks, sip my mason jar full of wine (because, you know a way to numb the pain away) and take pretty pictures.
I dislike counseling. I have almost no issue with group therapy, but just me and the therapist… Yeah, not my cup of tea. I like group because I can melt off into the background almost unseen if I so choose.
With just me and the counselor, I can’t hide behind the curtain. I feel so incredibly bare and naked. It’s a strange feeling. I can’t answer questions coherently. I say I don’t know more times then I care to admit, I blurt out things that I don’t want her to know. My mind goes blank, I forget the question I’m answering. Or what I’m saying. My face gets hot, my hands have to find a spot otherwise they don’t stop moving. And when I stop talking, so does she… The space gets loud and every sound is intensified.
I know that trick, I’ve used it. But it’s not a trick, it’s just honoring the space I need to answer the question. And the blank stares are given back to me. Ahhhhhh! I’m like a babbling hot ass mess that can’t think because I’m trying not to get lost in the memories…
I was asked to set an intention for my week regarding self-care. I said its to remember to breath. When things get tough and I can’t see which way is up, I lose track of breathing. It’s kind of funny, or maybe not. But breathing is an automatic thing, until you are hurting, sad, angry, etc…
My breath catches in my chest, each breath is short and shallow. Almost hyperventilating in a way. I’m going to be intentional in taking deep breathes and allowing. It’s hard and tiring and all I want to do is sleep it away. But my three children and husband tell me that I can’t do that. And so I just be in the knowledge that I’m alive and though I would much rather tune the world out and just sleep.
I’m going to at least make it to bedtime. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night. I’m hoping to keep insomnia at bay, but she keeps poking her ugly head up.
Simply 