Tuesday, March 13, 2012

What Kind of Fresh Hell Is This

This all just kind of qualifies as I am having a rough go of it. Not necessarily horrific stuff but more along the lines of I let things build up too much inside of me and then the built up stuff explodes outward in some weird way.

I mean here’s the thing with me, the thing I have written about on here or perhaps talked with friends about ad nauseum is that, I think I can handle it all. I think I am like super woman and nothing will bother me and I am… sometimes. But mostly I shovel negative things down into a deep dark place where it cannot seemingly be seen, or at least in my mind’s eye it cannot be seen, until lo the pit of doom fills up. It is not a vast endless pit, it has a breaking point. There is a point where I shovel and shovel and suddenly I am shit out of luck because there is no more damn room for me to put the negative stuff. I guess I am super woman in between the deep dark place emptying out and being filled up? Who knows… my brain is stooopid. And weird.

So when I say weird way I do not mean anything overtly weird like I think I can fly from our 2nd story walk-out or anything like that. No, what I mean by ‘explodes in some weird way’ is that I start crying over every little thing. I will be moving through this world in seemingly an okay frame ‘o mind and bam I am reading Harry Potter to my kid and dude that is flippin’ sad that Harry’s parents died before he could remember them, whimper *sob* and I am like ‘why the ‘ell does that bother me anyway?!’ and THEN I realize ‘OH crap I am in that weird place.’

OR I have continuous insomnia for a few days followed by a massive panic attack. I know I’ve talked about panic attacks before here. Last night I had a particularly spectacular one. Usually they happen at night thankfully so my kids have never had to see me do this. I forced myself to lay down last night at close to 1 am in hopes that my racing brain would just turn off. I knew moments after I alid down I should have just stayed up longer.  My heart was racing out of my chest. I literally laid my hand on chest and felt it leaping up and down and seemingly into and out of my throat. My mouth got dry and I thought I was going to throw up right then and there. I got up and walked around trying to catch my breath. Air in, air out. My ears were ringing so loud.  I went to the bathroom thinking I was truly going to be sick. I decided to go for a house walk. Those are weird. That 1am wandering through the house. I finally settled on getting some air, all I wanted was some air. Frankly someone could have slapped one of those silly O2 tanks to my back and I am sure it would have felt wonderful despite my hatred of them! I sat on the front porch for a good half hour. It is so freakishly warm right now that the crickets and frogs were making a clatter and it is pitch dark on our street, not street lights for us thankfully.  There was a warm soft breeze and it smelled like spring out there.  I huddled there hoping to get myself clear and calm. Air in, air out. I muttered to myself as I let myself back into the house like a thief about how I hate this. My heart was righting itself, I still felt sick but calmer.  The attacker was receding seemingly as quickly as it came.  I finally went to sleep 45 minutes later around 2 am.

A panic attack is just like it sounds. Like ‘hey I am okay reading this great book a little too late’ then bam no I am not and there is no room to think or breath or any ability to calm down. It is like that dark space unloads in that moment and all the issues/anger/sadness/frustration/you name the issue floods to the surface. Bascially, I cannot shovel one more thing on top.

As a kid I remember my Mom coming into my room to “check on me”. I was a light sleeper, ie: I slept like shit even as a kid. So when she came in I would wake up, always. I would pretend to sleep and as when I older I grew to hate those night time "visits".  She would tell me ALL about her shit the next day. I never understood what the hell she was talking about but looking back I am pretty sure she had panic attacks/anxiety attacks too. I guess the point of even mentioning this here is that I do wonder if this is a genetic and/or learned behavior..

Also that I promised myself as a kid that I would not be lame like my mother and burden my children with my issues like she did. I actually do not talk about any of this with them. Okay so when I cry, I do explain that to M Bug and Missy but just in easy to understand terms, nothing in depth. I also like to tell them that it’s okay to cry. And I never ever sneak into their rooms in the midst of panic attack.  Blerg.  That is just weird.  I did check to be sure Kevin and Lucy were still alive and breathing because yes one of my fears that bubbles up in middle of all of that is that someone will die on my watch.  Thanks for asking...

Regardless of what happens, tear or attacks, I am made acutely aware of the fact that I am a simple human and not some super human being. I am not meant to shovel so much shit in that pit nor can I manage it all that well. I am reminded that all of that is just plain stupid. However rinse repeat rinse repeat this might be in my life… you get the idea. One way I have managed to mange the tears/attacks  has been by writing. I have not been writing again. I have been slacking. Or better yet I have been marathon training and reading. I find other things to do then deal with my feelings because I hate to whine and moan over the seemingly trivial issues of my life.

That is until I cry over seemingly un-sob worthy items or I have a large scale panic attack.

If I can get myself to write at least one time per week about things, no matter how whiny or inane it all might seem that is better than nothing. I will allow myself to feel bad in order to feel better. I will be strong and better for this eventually no matter how long it takes to leanr!

My daddy once told me that I needed to be more like a duck. Calm on the surface but paddling like mad under the water to stay afloat. I totally suck as a duck. Like I am duck disaster! But I figure Buddha (what?!) and those dang ducks had to start somewhere so I am working on being more Zen like, calmer, letting the water roll off my back like a duck, breathing in and out WAY before the attacks occur not just during, and I most definitely need to work on shoveling that shit out of that pit before it gets to backed up.

My main take away of this story/post? No one needs explosive shit!
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