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Just like the last time and the other time and the time for before that until all of a sudden in the midst of this beautiful Life the places that have been stung burn wildly together and I find myself seeking some sort of nonsensical comfort with my back up against the wall, clawing at my pants to pull them up as high as I can, up my shaking legs so I can press my skin against the cold icepack that is the tiled bathroom floor.
The sound of the television in the other room moves farther and farther away until I cannot even recall a single show I have ever watched or wanted to watch or liked enough to actually look forward to. Inside this space tucked under the stairs meant for pissing and washing your hands, meant for replacing the fancy lime verbena or sliding a pencil over the hills of my eyelids, inside this tiny space with a pedestal sink and a toilet and a cold black and white porcelain tiled floor, I think I have come to die.
Runaway strings of searing sweat race from the inside of my soul. down my head, to my face.Suddenly I realize that the air is too thick and it has become unreachable or I am needing more air than this room can hold, but something has gone terribly wrong and surely I am about to die but it is taking every single breath every single thought I have to pull in the air harder and push my legs into the cold harder that there is nothing left for me to call out for someone to save me. I think about reaching up to the doorknob, pushing the door open just enough to let someone know I am losing my hearing and about to have a heart attack and have a temperature of a thousand and five but that is all it is, a thought.
The twisting knot in my abdomen shoots pain to my thighs to my fingertips to my throat until I throw up and I am pretty sure I am choking on my own puke. I am pretty sure I will never be able to stop having nightmares twice a month I am pretty sure I forgot to start the dishwasher I am pretty sure I am choking on my memories and drowning in the bile they leave behind. I am pretty sure that not everyone has had to do the things that I have done I am pretty sure he's watching so you think you can dance I am pretty sure that these things made me who I am and who I am kinda rocks. I am pretty sure that without these experiences, these traumas, these trials, I wouldn't be here. now. I am pretty sure she's going to die before her time and I am pretty sure my brother will break in two when it happens but maybe, just maybe she won't.
Because four years ago this week, my husband didn't die. I thought he was going to and he didn't. He didn't drop dead, his aneurysm didn't rupture, the surgeon didn't snort cocaine and kill him just a little by accident. Because a zillion years ago a girl who may have been me thought she was going to die and she didn't. She is here, right now, on this icepack floor, freezing, and crying into her arm and wishing away these unfairnesses like a little girl wishes for a dollhouse or to be a famous movie star.
I stand up, slowly, against the invisible suffocating weight of the Things that have stung my heart. I wash my hands, splash water on my face, watch bubbles and tears and water swirl around and then down the sink drain, down where I can't see them.
And I am pretty sure I'll make it back out to the living room before the show starts again.
Panic Attack: a sudden episode of intense fear that is disabling.(Merriam -Webster)
I try to live "in the moment", especially as I get older. I like to think I am getting very good at it, and find I am enjoying more of "the little things", things I may not have otherwise seen. But, sometimes, well, you know...the buildup. Also? I've had enough of these deep sappy posts, so, get your crafty rock star fishnets on I am sharing something soooo ridiculously easy over the weekend!
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OMG, panic attacks, WTF? I suffered from them since high school and thank god they have abated. My husband still suffers from them. We both have nice cases of PTSD too. So, I TOTALLY FELT it as I was reading. I feel for you. These are so horrible, you can't see anything but the end. I don't know that they ever go away, but they do come less frequently as time passes. Trauma is a fucking bitch of a monster. And anything that comes after it - any of life's unfairnesses, they just get added on. It's cumulative, unfortunately for someone who's suffered trauma where for someone else it's just another shitty event that occurred after the last one.
ReplyDeleteLooking forward to a craft. I need to prettify my surroundings.
WTF? is right Cindy!! That is so amazingly awesome that yours have abated, though sucky for the hubs. Has he had them for long?
DeleteI am such a baby when I get them. I feel them coming, and say to myself "Self, you are probably gonna have a panic attack thing soon, so do.not.panic" but I panic anyway.
PTSD can kiss my ass. And yours. And your Hubsters as well.
On a lighter note, I love, just simply fucking love when you get all down n'dirty wit yo' comments and say things like FUCKING BITCH OF A MONSTER.
Also, technically as I write this it is Monday, but since I haven't slept yet it is really Sunday, which is the weekend, which means if I can stop procrastinating I will have my little prettifier post up and going by morning. :}
You describe it so well. I knew you were writing about a panic attack--I guess those of us who have or had them would know. I am very sorry for your brother's family--I cannot even begin to imagine how hard things must be. And for you, to see him walk the path toward his loss. I'm so sorry.
ReplyDeleteAs I was re-reading the strings of nonsense in this post (before publishing) I did think to myself that perhaps it is too vague, and that it might just seem like words with no point.
DeleteClearly I decided I didn't give a shit. ( I say, smiling slyly)
No, really, I care tremendously, but thought perhaps it would be an effective statement for someone to be confused, then find out at the end, and maybe, just maybe get a bit of an idea what they are like.
Because they are confusing.
Also, thank you for your words of sorry...for lack of a better word, I "love" how you put it: "to see him walk the path toward his loss." Because, that is exactly the realfuckality of it all. It actually sparked me to write about a bit, from that perspective, in my journal, where things super dark begin. :)