A Dordyline panic attack live in action. (With added "She cries at everybodies party..." comment from random friends mother at the end.....this was my life)
I was an incredibly shy child.
I bawled at the very thought of a Happy Birthday serenade, I crawled on the floor to avoid visitors, I ran away from sleepovers early in fear, and I worried daily.
I never understood my emotions. My family labeled me dramatic, I bottled it up and the world kept spinning. I didn't know how to properly communicate the hefty weight that lived in my chest, or the wind that constantly blew though my head muddling the sound of the world around me. I didn't know how to explain the worry that twisted my organs into balls of bloody matter trying to burst through my skin.
I didn't know how to let anybody know, so I just cried and got on with it.
As I grew, this constant fear and worry manifested itself in peculiar ways. Instead of a mysterious presence running rampant within my body I would try and tie it to tangible things. I would google the likelihood of dying in a car accident, of being doused with acid, or losing mobility of my limbs. I would research how you take care of a sick relative to feel prepared for a future that may arise. I would google how to prevent SIDs in the children I didn't have and wake up my (now ex) boyfriend with a groan...
"I turned the brightness down! How did you even know I was awake this time?" I would complain while furiously smashing my keyboard looking for answers. He would angrily pull my computer away and demand I go to sleep before rolling over and dozing off, most likely to the sound of my accelerated heart smashing against my ribs.
At times, it consumes my entire life. My obsessive compulsive tendencies take over my mind and body, counting steps as I walk and massaging my cuticles in order under the table or during long Uber rides. Counting keeps my mind calm, it keeps me guilt free that if something happens I will not be at fault, because I did my counting.
I'm 26 (well, almost) now, and I wish I could say I was learning to cope, but that would be nothing but a fallacy I want myself to believe. Heck, just this morning it crawled into my Monday....
"Only three pumps of bubble bath? You only want your parents to live for 3 more years" The cloud appeared forcing me to dump 50 full pumps of bubbles into my bath leaving my body slimy, but my brain satisfied.
I used to cope by living a life filled with interesting and obscure stories to keep eyes off my mind. I would roam around town desperately searching for people and experiences to fill the time in between panic attacks.
I loved spending a blurry hour or two in a dive bar with a few friends before running outside, sticking my hand in the air and falling into a yellow cab heading for another adventure.
"Sing-Sing"
"Goldbar"
"The corner of Orchard and Grand"
I would command before staring out the window as New York City wizzed around outside. Three seconds later I would jump out, brush past sidewalk smokers and push my way through a crowd to find my friendly faces.
I would go and go and go some more until I was forced to stop, disappearing fast and quick to cry and worry and overanalyze every thought and emotion I had ever felt.
"Where did you go last night?" My friends would push as I laughed it off with an air of mystery.
"I swear you are doing porn..." A friend once pushed, after I would not explain where I had run off to the night before.
How do you tell someone, who doesn't understand, that every now and then you need to explode in order to rebuild yourself to somewhat resemble a person?
How do you explain that the mysterious week you didn't answer any texts and completely dropped off the grid, you were actually alone in your apartment sitting around waiting to go to sleep again.
How do you pull someone into an experience you don't even understand yourself?
When you find out, let me know.
I have taken up painting pictures while listening to audiobooks to calm my mind....I have no actual artistic talent, but hey it sure keeps my mind busy.
