I just had my second panic attack of the day. They don’t happen often. I’ve probably had four or five in my whole life. The last time I had one I couldn’t get off my bedroom floor. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t calm myself down. I was completely overtaken by catastrophic thoughts and improbabilities. They tighten their grip on me the more I fight and the only way I can get free is if I breathe. And focus only on that.
My entire body hurts right now. It’s as if I was tense and tight bound and uncomfortable for a time and now I’m not but I still hold the physical memory of enslavement. What ifs…what if he thinks I’m a horrible person? It was a thought that cycled round and round my neck until my air supply ran low. I cry even thinking about it. It just happened and I’m telling myself I should know better than that. But sometimes…sometimes you don’t.
I like to think that I am sure and confident. Clear on who I am and what my purpose is. And most of the time I am. And then there are the times when I have to ask for help. I hold so much judgment in doing so. When I have to ask for help…specifically in a situation where it is not about teaching me or guiding me, facilitating my improvement but the actual solicitation of assistance that I cannot give myself–I freak. I feel less than. Irresponsible in some way. Deficient. Frivolous. I hate that feeling. Probably more than anything in the world. I would rather endure any other type of discomfort.
And I have. I’ve suffered silently rather than ask for help far too many times to count. Yet lately God has been trying to teach me humility and has given me ample opportunity to modify the thoughts I have about asking for help. Only they’ve been with me so long…I have even prayed to God that I become successful and never have to ask anyone for anything. It’s ironic given my life’s work is about connection.
I can barely move without pain so I’m writing to dissipate it. I AM ACKNOWLEDGING YOU! I’m disappointed in myself. That I wasn’t able to stop the first one or the second one. I’m frustrated that even now I don’t know what I need. The thought of calling someone gives me the same anxiety that got me here. I’m sad that for all my work this is still such a struggle for me. That days like today still exist and are so powerful. I’m angry and hurt and tired and hungry. I’m just a bit worn.
And still somewhere deep within me I know that it’ll pass. Never sure of the how. Or the when. Only that it will as all things do. Somewhere in here there’s something to be grateful for, too. I’ll look again tomorrow.