Today I got a private message via the fancy new Instagram instant
messaging (was that really necessary?), that instilled a deeply proud feeling
inside of my heart.
It was never the plan to start littering my follower's feeds with posts about
my illnesses (both physical and mental) but I received such support in the
comments sections. I quickly came to realize how therapeutic it was for me, to
type the things in my head and have really people hear them. To share real
unfiltered, unconcealed (usually unshowered) photos of my life and have real
people see them. To be heard and seen, and not abandoned, even by people I'll
never meet and who owe me nothing, is therapeutic.
Today though, it wasn't a 'you are so strong' or 'hang in there' that moved me.
Today I received a private message from a young mother living in Turkey, who
came across my Instagram feed while doing 'panic attack' research online. (THAT
is why hashtags are so necessary, lol I don't care what anyone else thinks!)
Here was a person just like me, a million miles away, so thankful to have found
someone who seemed to really understand what she'd been going through. And
that's the thing! We can have dozens of friends and family members who support
us and love is no matter what, but no matter how hard they try, no one can
actually understand what you're going through unless they're going through it
to. And despite not wishing what you're going through on your worst enemy, it
is a special kind of comfort when you find someone who is.
When I was first diagnosed with depression in high school, I didn't tell any of
my friends because I assumed no one would understand. When I got so sick that I
had to quit my job and was living at home in my late 20's, I literally ran away
from anyone who MIGHT ask, 'so what have you been up to?' I have been alive for
30 nearly years, I have been (some sort of) sick for maybe 13 years, and a good
8 or 9 of those feeling too embarrassed or guilty to be honest about who I
really am.
I blog, and I Facebook and Instagram about my Endometriosis and the Anxiety
Monster because of panicking moms in Turkey. Because of people all over the
world who should never feel embarrassed or guilty, because I no longer do.
Friday, September 11, 2015
Thursday, September 10, 2015
Efron Induced
September, 8th 2015
You know what's weird? Experiencing a panic attack in the car.
Usually the moment it starts I head for the bathroom. 9 times out of 10 it's my own bathroom, which says a lot about my current social life. The bathroom is my designated recovery zone. I usually end up sitting on the toilet for a few minutes, then sitting on the floor for a few minutes, and going back and forth until the attack is over. Sometimes I think that my panic attacks usually happen at home because my brain NEEDS to have them, but also knows that home is the easiest place for me to recover.
This time though, my husband and I were in the movie theater. Zac Efron was tripping on PCP, and the camera angles went weird and the soundtrack got too loud, and I panicked. Which is new. New is fucking infuriating. Make believe things never used to make me panic. I never used to get dizzy watching a huge moving screen (a roller coaster would literally murder me right now). I never used to HAVE to cry during an attack. Now I do, and I fucking hate it.
Initially I retreated to the theater bathroom, obviously far less comforting then my own bathroom. There's usually terrible music, there's no room in the stall to sit anywhere but on the toilet, and no matter how far away from the door your stall is and how empty the rest of the bathroom is, someone always chooses to use the stall right next to yours. It wasn't good enough. I tried for another few minutes to sit back in the theater and hold my husband's hand, but I needed MY bathroom. In order to get from the public bathroom to my bathroom, we needed to get in the car.
It's actually only a 5 minute drive back to our house, but it blew my mind. When you're panicking in the bathroom, it's just you and the fan, and whoever you're texting. That's it, that's the whole world, for the time being. Driving home though, I saw the truth; the entire universe continues to spin whether you're functioning properly or not. There were other couples starting their movie date night, people stocking up for the weekend at the LCBO, people walking through the parking lot with their gym bags. There was an older couple walking hand in hand, a bunch of people gardening or cutting the grass. Cars and trees and intersections and what seemed like the entire rest of the world being completely normal and care-free, while I held my seat belt away from my chest trying to talk my pounding heart down, and attempted to hold my tears in until I got home.
Literally 5 minutes down a single street (also, granted a painfully long traffic light..that's painful even when I'm not dying), and I have never felt so fucking small. Now I can't deny that while I can't even sit through a crappy movie...while I can hardly breathe...there are a million people being productive and contributing to the world. There are people giving birth and people getting home late from work, people researching a cure for cancer and getting on a plane to go build schools in a third world country. And I can't even breathe.
When I'm on the bathroom floor, I'm oblivious to such things. As far as I'm concerned, the rest of the world pauses, while I catch my breath.
Usually the moment it starts I head for the bathroom. 9 times out of 10 it's my own bathroom, which says a lot about my current social life. The bathroom is my designated recovery zone. I usually end up sitting on the toilet for a few minutes, then sitting on the floor for a few minutes, and going back and forth until the attack is over. Sometimes I think that my panic attacks usually happen at home because my brain NEEDS to have them, but also knows that home is the easiest place for me to recover.
This time though, my husband and I were in the movie theater. Zac Efron was tripping on PCP, and the camera angles went weird and the soundtrack got too loud, and I panicked. Which is new. New is fucking infuriating. Make believe things never used to make me panic. I never used to get dizzy watching a huge moving screen (a roller coaster would literally murder me right now). I never used to HAVE to cry during an attack. Now I do, and I fucking hate it.
Initially I retreated to the theater bathroom, obviously far less comforting then my own bathroom. There's usually terrible music, there's no room in the stall to sit anywhere but on the toilet, and no matter how far away from the door your stall is and how empty the rest of the bathroom is, someone always chooses to use the stall right next to yours. It wasn't good enough. I tried for another few minutes to sit back in the theater and hold my husband's hand, but I needed MY bathroom. In order to get from the public bathroom to my bathroom, we needed to get in the car.
It's actually only a 5 minute drive back to our house, but it blew my mind. When you're panicking in the bathroom, it's just you and the fan, and whoever you're texting. That's it, that's the whole world, for the time being. Driving home though, I saw the truth; the entire universe continues to spin whether you're functioning properly or not. There were other couples starting their movie date night, people stocking up for the weekend at the LCBO, people walking through the parking lot with their gym bags. There was an older couple walking hand in hand, a bunch of people gardening or cutting the grass. Cars and trees and intersections and what seemed like the entire rest of the world being completely normal and care-free, while I held my seat belt away from my chest trying to talk my pounding heart down, and attempted to hold my tears in until I got home.
Literally 5 minutes down a single street (also, granted a painfully long traffic light..that's painful even when I'm not dying), and I have never felt so fucking small. Now I can't deny that while I can't even sit through a crappy movie...while I can hardly breathe...there are a million people being productive and contributing to the world. There are people giving birth and people getting home late from work, people researching a cure for cancer and getting on a plane to go build schools in a third world country. And I can't even breathe.
When I'm on the bathroom floor, I'm oblivious to such things. As far as I'm concerned, the rest of the world pauses, while I catch my breath.
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