I started my weekend before Christmas with a disturbing night of my heart trying to pound its way out of my chest, bringing with it images of me going to the ER, and trying to convince them I didn’t want to die, I wanted them to find out what was wrong but things just kept going wrong. I tossed a little and my heart settled down briefly before it would start again. I overslept, afraid to get out of bed. Dressed in a dress that I used to wear to church and collapsed on the couch. I was supposed to do so many things in preparation for the Holiday but I was torn between doing what I was supposed to do or go to the ER and get checked out. To be cautious I took my pills, the blood pressure and anti-anxiety and anti-depressant. It alleviated some, but I swear to you my chest was sore, and I wasn’t breathing deeply (although when I wanted to I could) I was sure I was going to die.
For someone who has the odd insensibility to take a serrated blade diagonally across my left wrist, dying of something I couldn’t control would be a blessing of sorts….right? I realized I didn’t want to die. I have been having too many ideas for books and things that I can do with my limited funds and time. I was convinced in my terror that I was going to die.
When my sister came home with Mom and Mom had to run to the bathroom we had a few minutes alone. I expressed to her my fear and then the floodgates broke and I cried. I didn’t want to, I wanted to keep everything in. Keeping everything in isn’t always the best way and just the brief amount of time I cried on her shoulder did a world of good. I still felt frail and I wasn’t keen on the idea of driving to San Francisco and having an anxiety attack in the car or in my friend’s car or anywhere actually. I missed church the next day, again afraid that I wouldn’t be able to not break down again. I used the excuse that I didn’t have appropriate clothes, but we all know Heavenly Father loves us if we wear the wrong clothes to church, but I didn’t want to get out of my bed.
I survived the Christmas festivities with the family on Christmas Eve, and then the Dr. Who Christmas Special with friends on Christmas evening. I’m back a work now, able to be back on my schedule of shots and pills and knowing that things will be okay if I just stay stalwart on that path. I need to meditate. I need to find things for myself. Mom can join me, but I won’t pay for her and I won’t stay home unless she asks me. I don’t ever want to be overwhelmed by Anxiety like that again. It wasn’t a needful Christmas present.
One thought on “Crazy + Christmas = Anxiety”
My doctor gave me Xanax…or rather the generic form of it. He says sometimes just carrying it around with you is all the soothing that is needed when my feathers prick up and my eyes pin in and out (okay, so I’m not a bird, but that’s what happens when Sammy, my parrot, gets all crazy….I call her psycho bird when she does it). I hope he’s right. I don’t ever want another anxiety attack again.