So, again, last night I had a mild panic attack – but it was still an attack.
I suffer from heartburn once in awhile and anyone who suffers from heartburn or acid reflux knows the pain I’m talking about. Well, that set off another panic in me that it was my heart; that I was having a heart attack. It felt so real. My heart started to race, I started to get cold, clammy and sweaty. I felt dizzy. I thought for sure this was it, that my number was up. I would drop dead in my kitchen while I was cooking tacos and my husband wouldn’t notice because the tv was too loud.
I had to sit and be quiet. I went into the living room with some cold “Feeling Calm” tea that I had made earlier in the day. I sipped. I wished it was gin. I sipped again. Nope, it was feeling calm tea. I took my pulse. I felt my forehead. That darn muscle in my back – the one over my left shoulder blade, – started to spasm.
My husband came up from the family room. “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” I said. “Are you mad because I’m not helping to cook?” “No” “Then What’s wrong?”
Oh how I wish others could understand the fear that goes along with panic attacks. Think of the most scariest thing you ever went through: being locked in a port a potty; losing your child in a department store; going to a funeral where there’s a viewing; getting ready to abandon ship that you thought was sinking when really the ship had only ran aground because the skipper got drunk and fell asleep at the helm. Whatever! But think of a scary moment.
Think how you felt. That is a panic attack. Now think how you would feel if you had one of those every day, or every couple of days. Think how frustrating that is. You cannot control them and to fight them, well, don’t even both trying. It just makes it worse.
Now do you get my analogy of fighting my way out of a wet paper bag? Because that’s what it feels like every time I have a panic attack, but the paper bag is winning.