Good morning, Tuesday

I woke up around 7am yesterday and my brain was churning back and forth between 'I slept funny and cut off sufficient blood supply to all extremities,' (Truth: I don't actually use words like 'extremities' in the midst of panic) or 'I am dying'.

I don't know if it was the horrible dream I had woken up from, the realization that I was home alone, or my body just needing to be physically ill, but this one was ruthless.

I tried to fight it, took my drugs, got my fan and my journal and my pillow into the bathroom, even shook my way downstairs to get Snapple and unlock the door.

Unlock the door? When you're well experienced in the field of feeling like you could possibly be dying, you think well a head..well ahead to possibility of EMS workers needing to break down your door to get to you if it's not unlocked.

I got in position, and I braced myself, and I kept trying to convince myself that I was fine and it would pass, but this one just kept coming. I think that's why I cried so hard.

Dad finally got home from the gym (after receiving what could be the most disturbing 'HELP ME' texts, that a parent never wants to see from a child) and he got down on the floor with me, and i kept my head between his shoulder and his cheek for what seemed like forever. Just crying. Just literally losing it. That can't-breathe, can't-see crying. Sad tears, scared tears, frustrated tears, infuriated tears, disappointed tears..snot-falling-out-of-your-face tears.

I was so upset because after all my attacks, all the practice, after all my hard work I couldn't stop this one. It was too big, and too fast. Bigger and faster then 2 Ativans and Gravol. And when you can't do anything, when every muscle tenses itself into paralysis, it becomes nothing more then a most excruciating waiting game.

A game full of waves. And the waves are the worst, like this Monster gets off on tormenting you, and kicking you when you're down. There would be these moments where the skies would clear and you have just enough time to register that it is passing and you start feeling relieved, before it starts growing all over again. And that anticipation of every symptom building back up to that outrageous level, is terrifying.

Since it started I felt like I was going to pass out, and so around 8:30 dad finally convinced me/I was weak enough to lay down. And there I was again. It was 9 months ago and all I could see was the base of the toilet, and all I could feel was every inch of my insides decaying while dad squeezed my shoulders.

It was 9:30 when I convinced myself it was time to get up, and dad stood by me with his hand on my shoulder as I finally went to the bathroom. And then it was done. After 5 minutes I told him he could go, and close the door, and I sat on the toilet for a half hour actually watching my shakes dissolve, and feeling the spins in my head slow down.

I had the quickest and hottest shower after that. Sat in the tub with my head down until my skin was red, got back into my PJs. I got into bed with my friend, with a plan to watch Christmas movies and just relax, open our Christmas presents, but I was completely unconscious by the second scene.

And when it came back at night, after 2 hours of laughing at the TV with my brother, and being able to finally eat some toast, and assuming it was all over..I could do it on my own. I took my drugs, turned on my fan, got my cold cloth and my journal and my pillow, emptied my pink garbage bin just in case, and even shook my way downstairs to get Snapple. But I stayed in bed, and I reassured myself, and I distracted myself (with Greys), and while it may have taken 45 minutes still, I was able to see the shakes, and feel the spins dissipate, without having to wake Dad up, or unlock the front door just in case.

Maybe practice makes perfect. I don't know if I could ever convince myself to be thankful for such practice, though.

Good morning, Tuesday. Let's leave Monday far..far behind us. Deep breaths. We survived. We won't get used to it, but we will always survive.