And Sometimes You Fall Apart Unexpectedly

So I haven’t posted anything in a while, which hurts my heart a little. I haven’t really been able to concentrate too much on reading again which absolutely sucks for me, because it really helps with a lot of my anxiety. I want to read… like I really do. But then I think about picking up a book and it’s like my body physically won’t let me do it. Or I can’t make the decision on what to read. Which absolutely sucks when I have so many ARCs to review… because by the time I actually read them they won’t be “advanced” anymore. Oh well.

But part of the reason I’m posting right now is because I’m trying really hard to keep myself from not having another severe panic attack like the one I had last night. Last night: I was just at work, shelving and organizing books when all of a sudden my face started going numb and my fingers started tingling. I got up and went to my desk, and my fingers started cramping up. Well for me, that’s a major symptom of a panic attack. I of course then tried to get to my xanax in my purse, but couldn’t open my bottle. I went to my friend’s office because hers is actually private, whereas mine is just the library, and sat at her desk and waited until she got back from wherever she was so that she could open my bottle. I took my xanax and then sat on the floor behind her desk for about half an hour, half sobbing with my hands all cramped up while she tried to find calming noises like whale and tribal sounds to play in the background for me. As I’m half sitting, half laying on the floor with no feeling in half of my face, I feel as if I just keep growing smaller and smaller and smaller in the large shell of my body until there is nothing left. I keep waiting for something to change, something to start making me feel like I’m not disappearing inside of myself, but the xanax is just not working. I thank my friend and just leave work, with one hand still immobile. I drive myself to my chiropractors office which is only 5 minutes away, since I have an appointment at 5:30. Yeah, most people would probably cancel but calling and cancelling or not calling and just not going is causing me even more anxiety at this point. At this point it’s only 4:40, but I pretty much walk in sobbing and tell them that I’m in the middle of having a panic attack and is there please a massage therapist available who can try to calm me down for 20 minutes. Of course I’m super embarrassed even in the midst of the panic because the office seems even more crowded than normal, and all three of the receptionists whom I adore are there, and my chiropractor sees me and looks worried, and I just want to run away right there. They manage to get me in with one of the massage therapists for a little while and he works on me but my right hand is just not uncramping and the fact that even the relaxation therapy isn’t an instant fix and now I took two xanax over 45 minutes ago and feel no difference and I’m just really trying my hardest not to sob in front of this guy who I’ve met a total of one time. He doesn’t seem to like the fact that I’ve taken a double dosage of xanax and I try explaining to him that I rarely ever take my xanax. Which I keep saying that its xanax but it might be ativan. I don’t even know anymore. All I know is that it never worked. And this is the double dosage prescription that I was given of which I already took two.  So I’m pretty much just convinced that apparently my panic attacks just go away with time. Which in this story, it’s now been about an hour or so since it started and 45 minutes since I took the medication, and I have only gotten the control back to one of my hands. I eventually get out of the massage room and back into the chiropractors office where he tells me that I’m not looking like I’m feeling too great. I re-explain the whole panic attack thing. I also haven’t mentioned that all of this could have been a lot worse, because my fairly frequent panic attacks in my teen and college years involved me puking for hours in addition to all of these other symptoms – so at least that’s not happening. But anyway, he has me lay on the table and starts adjusting me and of course just everything hurts because I feel like my whole body is a cramped shell at this point. I’m half sobbing into the table-paper and am embarrassed when I get up and it’s so wet that I’ve ripped it and my stupid mascara is everywhere even though I’m surprised there’s even any left at this point. He adjusts my neck upright and talks me through two of the points of my neck being connected to my face and my hands. My face never stops being numb but my hand does stop cramping quite as much. I manage to stop crying on and off on my way out of the office, of course apologizing profusely, and try to distract myself by running “errands” at Safeway. Of course they don’t have half the things I need so I bust to tears in the jelly aisle. I’m glad I’m wearing a big jacket and there are a lot of people because I can just not exist really. I end up getting things I don’t need at all – peppermint ice cream and a DiGiorno pizza because fuck it. I get home and pretty much just lay of the couch sobbing, with my fingers cramped up again and my face still numb. It’s now been over 2 hours and I just don’t know what to do. At some point Brian gets home, but really the rest of the night is a blur. I just know that I went to bed still feeling like I was in a shell of a body, and I had horrible dreams, and I woke up with crusty eyes.

The thing with Borderline Personality Disorder.. or even depression.. or other mental disorders… is you never really see them coming, and despite medicine being great to an extent for some people, it really can fail you when you need it the most. It’s now been over 18 hours, and I’m still trying not to explode all over the place. I came into work late, and I’ve been debating on trying to talk to my boss but I’m afraid that I’ll just end up bursting into tears and sobbing on the floor of his office, and I don’t even really know this guy. Plus I still feel like there is this stigma with mental illness where people think that people are just making it up. But no – it really is taking everything I have to just be here and sit here without bursting into tears. Normally I’m begging for people to come in here to talk to me, but today I’ve already had like 4 people offer me food and I just can’t handle it. I want to go home. I want to just lay on the floor of my closet or bathroom and be a shell for the rest of the day.

I haven’t had a day or days like this in quite a while thank goodness but this is also the worst day or days I think I’ve had in a very long while. And it all pretty much came out of freaking nowhere. I mean a big part of my going to therapy and stuff is to try to figure out the though processes behind my bad thoughts – like what starts it. In this situation, I was literally shelving books – putting them in order, so I was mentally saying numbers and whatnot. And then bam, the panic set in. But I know that all of this panic is about my mother. My mother who is on the literal other side of the country. Who I won’t get to see for Thanksgiving, and who is having a 4 incision surgery on Tuesday that I can’t be there for. My mother who has already been through so much and doesn’t freaking deserve any of this. And I can’t control any of it, and I can’t help – and see- my just thinking about it has my face starting to get numb again. Cause found. Still don’t know how to fix it though.