I have panic attacks now: it’s a thing. I always thought panic attacks meant like “oh my god I’m soooo stressed out right now I can’t deal!” not, like, “hey I’m sitting on my couch watching TV, not even stressin’, WHOA WHOA WHAT IS THIS CRAZY INTENSE PHYSICAL SENSATION WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME I’M DYING AREN’T I, I MUST BE DYING.” I don’t event want to add up my doctors bills from January and February—a barrage of specialists confirming that my blood sugar, thyroid, heart, and lungs are all normal and it’s only a broken brain. 2014 has, so far, undoubtedly been the most brutal period of my life. I intend to write more about this later. Sorry, you won’t be spared.
I’ve been struggling for air, very non-metaphorically, for the past month. Sometimes my throat constricts and I can’t swallow. Limbs go numb. Heart suddenly pounds.
I’m still wrestling with myself, going back and forth about whether or not I believe it’s truly all mental.
This winter, amirite? I know two people from Michigan (which has had it way worse than me in New York) who rather unexpectedly moved to California this February. I feel that.
Related to #1: I’ve given up caffeine. At first, it didn’t matter because I woke up to a sock in the gut everyday, an anxious pit in my stomach. Running on 100% anxiety. Knock on wood, that hasn’t happened in a couple weeks. The con to this pro is that, for instance, today the fact that I’ve barely slept in two months is catching up with me.
I’ve basically (OK—sometimes I have a couple home-made cookies) given up sugar, too. Whether it’s mental or physical, being in optimal health can only help.
Seriously, when can I move to California. The best winters of my life were the two I spent in Texas. At this point it’s basically a mental health issue; will the government pay for me to be a Californian layabout?
My boyfriend (fiancee) is my strength and my dog is my joy. My childhood teddy bear is my xanax. Shout outs to all of them. Never get rid of the blanket or toy or whatever symbolizes the calm and ease of childhood for you. You never know whose slightly-worn fur you might need to trace whorls in while hyperventilating at 4AM.