So as I write about my panic attack last Monday, I’m having another one tonight. Ah, the joys of anxiety.
Before I begin, please understand this.
When I say panic attack and anxiety, I don’t mean a little nervous about something, or even a lot nervous about something. I mean that feeling like your heart is going to explode, and you’re sure that you’re dying, and you need to pace and shake and rattle and roll and you are sure you’re freaking out, and you may be hyperventilating, but it sure *feels* like dying, and you don’t think you’re breathing, but obviously you are if you’re hyperventilating because you can’t do that without breathing, but maybe you’re not breathing, and that just feels like you’re hyperventilating, and your heart is most definitely bursting out of your chest, and maybe you should call the ambulance, but by the time they got there you’d be dead anyway, and why is the room spinning like that?
That’s a panic attack and a moment of anxiety for me.
Except it last a lot longer than a moment. And it’s not always obvious because a lot of the time I just try to sit it out, but others time I have to pace or jiggle my leg or shake my hand or something like that. Whatever works.
But it’s not a lot of fun.
Luckily, my doctor gave me an awesome pill for it. I’m on other meds for depression, which is a whole different thing, but when my anxiety hit that moment, then I take what I’ve nicknamed my chill pill (mostly because I can’t pronounce the damn thing).
Now let me take you back to last Monday.
I like to call this story “How I Almost Didn’t Take My Son Bowling Because I Knew I’d Meet New People There.”
My son loves bowling. Most of the time. More often than not.
Back before the summer began, I bought bowling passes for both of us. It was a great deal – three games each, per day, for a super-low fee.
I made plans to go bowling.
And I made plans to go bowling
And I made plans to go bowling.
And I made…you get the idea.
Then, a friend I kind of know, but know well enough to want to hang out with, suggested that I join in on their group of bowlers. It’s a group of other moms and their kids. It’s a whole bowling league. Except, you know, not really a bowling league. Close enough.
I kept saying I would go, but then something kept me from going. I finally made it two weeks ago, and then it turned out she hadn’t been able to make it, so my son and I bowled, and he had a great time.
Last Monday rolled around.
I’d gotten into a group message on FB about the upcoming bowling. I said I’d be there. I knew my son wanted to be there. I wanted to be there.
About 45 minutes before the appointed time, I sat at my desk, looked at the message, and freaked out.
I wouldn’t know most of the people there. I’d never met them before. I could not do it.
I sat around, freaking out, thinking of how bad a mother I’d be if I didn’t take him.
I took my chill pill.
I would go bowling.
And I did! And it was fun! And the other people were nice!
To be fair, I have no memory of their names. I didn’t talk to them very much. I’m already starting to panic about going back.
But I’m going. I’m pushing through. And maybe this week it’ll be easier. And maybe next week, it’ll be even easier. And maybe, eventually, I won’t need to take a chill pill.