It’s all gone

It’s become overwhelmingly too much to endure any longer.

The pain of fear. The agony of it all day after day after every damned day.

Today wasn’t bad. I had my reservations, but it wasn’t bad. I thought, as I have in the past that for a minute, things felt better. Different. Perhaps I was leading my way (or after massive amounts of prayer..BEING led) out of this darkness.

Then…in it creeps.

I make a split decision that I regret to my soul and it starts flooding back in.

First with disequilibrium. The feeling of walking on a moving surface. It only lasts a nanosecond but within that nanosecond, panic is let out of its cage.

Then comes the tingling either in my left cheek, jaw or deltoid. This provokes worry. Stroke? Oh God, please help me.

Then it all starts to unravel from there.

If I were talking with the crazy me, I would say “Crazy, listen, this has happened countless times over the last 11 months. You’ve been fine. This is probably from you clenching your shoulders and neck.”

I would try to reason.

There isn’t any.

A pain is a clot. An extra or skipped heart beat (which I have on a good day or bad day and has been checked and double checked) is the sign of impending death.

The strain in my neck is blocked vessels, which is likely partially true exempt its probably caused by tension.

Here come the actual panic attacks. It feels like that very moment when you’re at the top of the highest roller coaster and your stomach drops as the air gasps from your lungs. You’re now flooded with terror.

You reason that this is exactly what panic feels like. Crazy rudely tells you to F-off because what if you’re wrong!

You cry. The terror mixed with the months long guilt and constant fight have taken their toll. You cry a lot. It’s a deep sorrowful sob. It clearly comes from your soul and your soul is wailing.

You pray a string of begging, pleading, promising words as you try not to scare your family.

You apologize repeatedly to your spouse who has had to resort to continuing to watch tv. One hand on the remote while the other pats you. Occasional “You’ll be okay” is spoken and you’re crushed with guilt, remorse and every other emotion that indicates issues.

You’re panic is too much today so you take a full dose of Ativan. Something you never do but, you’re tired. You’re worn out. You look at your spouse through a heavy downpour of tears and squeak “I think I’m going to have to go into the hospital, and I don’t want to.”

Speaking those words out-loud causes you to unleash the wailing of 10,000 wounds that you’ve inflicted upon yourself. The wails of someone at the end of their coping scale. It’s a sound that brings tears to anyone that hears it because its so deep, so sorrowful and so painful, you unwittingly share in it.

You lay next to your spouse who tries to comfort you, but there is none.

The Ativan starts to work a touch so the tears shut off-ish.

You are cold. Cold gives you anxiety so you head to the bath.

You remind yourself that a bath is always a sign of panic and anxiety.

Crazy doesn’t cuss at you because Crazy agrees.

While you let the warm water sooth your spirit and warm your body, you pray. You ask for forgiveness. You try to calm Crazy down some more.

Crazy is unruly. You see, we really don’t know Crazy that well. She is odd. Crazy is shifty. She’s fundamentally the same person but changes almost daily.

Yesterday you could reason with Crazy where today, there is no reasoning.

Crazy practices self-abuse. She’s not a cutter or addicted to drugs but Crazy seems to look for any reason to propel a worry into an anxiety attack.

Her knife is Google. Her drug is The Mayo Clinic.

She feels a twinge, Google fix. “What’s that sentence?” Click.

“Serious risks are involved when”
“Side effects are”
“Symptoms such as these are associated with”
“And in some cases resulting in death”

Crazy will research and read so much that a simple quick sharp pain in the body unleashes a storm of checks and balances that would fry even the most powerful computer.

The checks and balances continue until a diagnosis is formed.

It looks much like the scene in War Games when the computer is flying through possible scenarios to win.

No one wins this game. Ever.

So Crazy settles on a diagnosis and then rechecks with Google, Mayo, WebMd…even Wikipedia.

Crazy reads every single line looking for the sentence that concurs with the findings and then Crazy will pour over it again and again, drilling the prognosis in deeper and deeper until she is certain death is at hand.

A cough is a blood clot. A neck pain is stroke. Numbness in the arm is stroke or heart attack. A headache is cancer. Wait! Recent MRI eliminated that. It’s either a clot or….a headache.

Crazy camps in the tub. Isolated. Wondering if her family would check on her in time to save her from death. She wonders how long she would be in the tub before they would wonder if she was okay.

You shake Crazy and tell her to stop. You can’t do this any more.

The Ativan is working a bit more and Crazy quiets down. You’re left to ponder your next move without Crazy pushing you.

In-treatment looks like its a front runner. Your episodes are bigger but less frequent. Crazy stirs and you stop and wait for the ability to continue.

You evaluate all you’ll lose. How can I go to a facility? I’ll lose everything.

And you will.

Post 9-11 and pre-weapon banning frenzy, your mental health medical records are an interest to about everyone. There will be background checks that include this information. HEPA who?!

I can’t lose everything. But if I don’t….I’m going to lose everything.

Rock and hard place.

You have counseling tomorrow. You hope you can sort out real from fear. Recent upsetting events from normal anxiety.

You dread going to work. You don’t know how you’re going to make it through the day!

Your heart sinks. You tear up. You see your life slipping away. It’s painful.

You’re tired. You’re sad. You’re hopeless, helpless and worn out.

You’ve got very little, if anything left.

Suicide isn’t an option. I do not agree with it or condone it, but I sure as hell understand the reason it happens. (If you feel this is YOUR solution call the Hotline at (800) 273-8255 right now. They can help.)

If you’re not one to commit suicide, what do you do?

I don’t do drugs or drink. I don’t smoke or have a vice. Where is my out?

I guess I’ll have to wait until Crazy fights her way back through the Ativan curtain so she can Google it and find out.

In the meantime, my spouse is left alone. Left to wonder if Ill ever return.
Left to deal with the tormented soul that is so filled with guilt plagued self loathing that I’m sure is torn between wanting their OWN life back and wanting to honor our vows….in sickness and in health.

I would be there until the sun was shining again, but can we really ask another to do the same?

Guilt and shame washes over me every minute of every single broken regret filled helpless day.

My ability to stand strong is gone. My ability to fight this is gone. My ability to reason with Crazy is gone. My abilities to really, do much of anything…are gone.

It’s all gone.


Please Leave, Thank You

SO much has happened since my original plight that started with a carelessly prescribed medication in February.

Panic and anxiety showed up. Parked the RV, set up some lawn chairs and started taking over my life.

As you’ve read, I’ve fought a lot of battles. I’ve won some and lost a lot, all while my work environment was threatened by the daughter of the company President.

In the last month or so, I’ve had my fair share of issues. Disequilibrium, nausea, panic, anxiety, depression, fear of death, fear of living…you name it.


It’s been….dare I say….better.

I was yanked out of my old place, put in a different and very poorly functioning place and BAM, I am functioning a bit like myself with chunks where I’m not.

If I’m very busy, I do better. Sometimes I have to push through the feelings of panic and anxiety, but again, busy is better.

I’m busy a lot.

I’m not sure working 12-16 hour days is ideal as I do believe overworking can aggravate symptoms.

So can being tired.

I have also had very little exposure to the Director. Next to none actually. Ive FELT a bit more relaxed and less like my job is being threatened. Coincidence? Clearly not.

It all sounds axing right? Recovery MUST be right around the corner!

Um, no. My bouts are painful and disabling. I relapse every week to week and a half. Thursday, I relapsed through Saturday morning. Got busy at work and it was better.

This morning, I start to bubble. Pockets of panic and anxiety. So I take something called Sedalia because I read it was the opposite of everything I’m fearful of regarding medicine.

It was like someone flipped the “off” switch within MINUTES. I was stunned but almost giddy. I felt, dare I say…NORMAL!

We went about our day. I felt peaceful. I couldn’t believe it.

8 hours later…someone turned that damned switch back on and it happened just as fast.

Just as stunning. I still can’t believe it.

It FEELS worse, but maybe it’s because I had total relief and it was yanked away.

Maybe it IS worse. Who knows. What I do wish, is that it would leave and not come back.

I saw myself today. Now, I see the “new” me again. I hate it.

Chest pains, fear of sudden death, panic, anxiety, it’s all rolling around.

I can’t help but wonder why.

Did the homeopathic meds give me something my body loved and now it’s having a tantrum?

I pray when I wake up, it’s gone. I pray every day that those of us that suffer, find relief.

This stuff still sucks and I wouldn’t miss it if it were to leave.

Still employed

My spouse was home when I got home last night. I’m not going to sugar coat it, I thought we had been fired or walked out.

It wasn’t either. The day ended early. I was so relieved.

The place is great, the manager is amazing… we meet the Assistant Manager today and we are apprehensive.

I don’t recall starting a job hoping I will like everyone. I would just go and hope I do well. Everything else was secondary.

So, I listen with a watchful eye on any complaints or judgements.

In my own job world, I was turned down for even an interview for an internal position. Awesome. I’m still stuck. I’m still dreading going. I’m still clinging to my house before its time to leave.

Again, I hate that my job has turned me into a shell of my former self!

Blurry vision doesnt mean your crazy…exactly

So as I mentioned this morning, I have blurry vision on and off and have likely convinced myself that I may be in line for a stroke.

I have no other symptoms except dizziness (which I get with anxiety/panic anyway). I have no markers that would make me suseptable for stroke other than extra pounds. I have no markers for someone predisposed to blood clots…..but…..that doesnt stop the anxiety over developing a case of babble or confusion.

We have all had those moments when we are talking and we utter words that dont make sense because we are putting two together or we are in a hurry or hopped up on caffeine. To a “normal” person, it is an amusing moment to giggle about. To someone with panic/anxiety, it clearly means a sign of doom.

No, I havent had a moment of confusion or babble. I have in my life…which I choose the moment I am in a panic to think about because having a chronic disorder of the magnitude that we often do, just isnt enough. We have to add a side of death or disability and wash it down with a long list of worries that we can never quite seem to get past for long.

The mind is an amazing and strange organ. If I spent as much time feeling great about things as I do tormenting about things, I would be one giddy fool.

So I go through my day diagnosing each blip in my life like I have a medical specialty in every field on the planet. What I SHOULD be doing is diagnosing my need to diagnose myself. If I could master THAT, then the skies might open up and the sun might, just maybe shine through…..