My Sunday meltdown resulted in a trip to my psychologist on Tuesday afternoon. I'm not ashamed to say I've seen a counselor professionally. While I know therapy isn't for everyone, I've found it always helps me. I starting going when I first had panic attacks in my teens, and any time I'm out of sorts, I end up back on that same couch, pouring my hear out.
Naturally, it was one of the first things I concluded I needed, when I forgot my black shoes for work on Monday morning and collapsed again into crying with frustration while driving home to get them. (More than hormones. More than work stress....Seriously. The second you find yourself crying over sneakers is when you admit you're going CRAYCRAY and book an appointment ASAP.)
My psych is a lovely woman understands and sympathizes me in a way no one else could. She is not just there to pay attention to me because I'm another cheque. (Well TECHNICALLY she is... but...The look on her face an in her eyes whenever I'm spilling my guts out to her is always sympathy.) I've told her things I don't think I could bring myself to admit to my closest friends.
The point of this all is that I'm feeling sorted out. I'm not RESOLVED, but I understand more. I understand why I had the first real panic attack I've had in years. The weird feelings I've been having. The depth of the break up I went through. (Read: It was more than just... petty. Which made me feel less stupid for being sad about it.)
ANYWAY, the point is, there is going to be some change in my life, and soon, I hope. Or soonish. What it might be, I don't know. All I know is that feeling understood is amazing. Feeling not CRAZY...is also amazing. I feel more level.
I'm going to try and get out a regular post but I've been busy with work/going insane/and back again. I worked a 13 hour day on Monday between my two jobs. UGH.
Showing posts with label panic attacks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label panic attacks. Show all posts
September 20, 2011
September 18, 2011
Gloomy Sunday
EDIT: I was in a psychotically dark place this morning when I wrote this. The past couple of days have been eventful to say the least. I'll explain more later, but I have to go sleep now. I work 13 hours tomorrow, and I'm not looking forward to it one tiny bit. I've been having problems with my mentality-- lately when I've been agitated or upset it's like a whole different personality comes through. When that happens, writing it out happens to calm me down in a big way. I'm not deleting this post because it's slice of life, but I am trying to explain where I was coming from when it came into life.
Dear Self,
Today you're choosing responsibility to a job you have you to admit you are starting to hate, over something your heart wants, but also needs. You're choosing practical and logical over emotional. Who the fuck are you?
You'll get over it. You'll get over him. You'll quit eventually, but not tonight. And years from now you won't remember tonight, the tonight where you DIDN'T quit your job, put on that grey uniform and those pants you hate. But you might have remembered the tonight you went to the cold room filled with warm people to listen to music that would have been good for every bit of your soul. That might have put you back on solid ground, soothed that panicked attack of hysterics you went into this morning.
The one where you almost cried until you puked.
The one where you couldn't breath for a full minute and while you were suffocating, you knew it WASN'T about a band, it wasn't even about the boy and how he hurt you, you knew it was about more. Self, today you are the logical voice of reason, saying that money is more important. More important than freedom and love and art and spontaneity. That air conditioning is better than the cool breeze. That digital is better than film, Facebook is better than real human contact and dubstep is better than Bob Dylan.
That room where you would have sat with your best friend and the boy who saved your sanity a few nights ago and listened to real life art, and poetry, en Francais? It's going to be waiting for you. And your empty seat will be there and your empty hands will fill with useless items at work and you'll have the same question twenty times. A hundred times. Other people will ask you if they know you from somewhere and you realize that it's been happening more and more lately. It's not YOU they know, it's the fear and the ocean behind your eyes. They've all been there. Everyone goes there, and everyone comes back... but not tonight. Tonight you're going deeper down the rabbit hole.
Two weeks from now when you decide you've had it, you're going to wish you quit that goddamn job tonight, since you're quitting anyway, eventually. You even have another job don't care about to cover your ass. The rent you don't pay and the words you don't say are on the opposite ends of the spectrum. You have it dollar easy and yet you feel that life is taxing, hard.
Tonight is going to turn into tomorrow, then the next day, then the next. By then you'll be so far gone you might not know who you are anymore. You might not be your job, but your job is putting up a fight to keep you from being anyone else.
I'm saying it again, who the fuck are you?
Sincerely,
Me
Dear Self,
Today you're choosing responsibility to a job you have you to admit you are starting to hate, over something your heart wants, but also needs. You're choosing practical and logical over emotional. Who the fuck are you?
You'll get over it. You'll get over him. You'll quit eventually, but not tonight. And years from now you won't remember tonight, the tonight where you DIDN'T quit your job, put on that grey uniform and those pants you hate. But you might have remembered the tonight you went to the cold room filled with warm people to listen to music that would have been good for every bit of your soul. That might have put you back on solid ground, soothed that panicked attack of hysterics you went into this morning.
The one where you almost cried until you puked.
The one where you couldn't breath for a full minute and while you were suffocating, you knew it WASN'T about a band, it wasn't even about the boy and how he hurt you, you knew it was about more. Self, today you are the logical voice of reason, saying that money is more important. More important than freedom and love and art and spontaneity. That air conditioning is better than the cool breeze. That digital is better than film, Facebook is better than real human contact and dubstep is better than Bob Dylan.
That room where you would have sat with your best friend and the boy who saved your sanity a few nights ago and listened to real life art, and poetry, en Francais? It's going to be waiting for you. And your empty seat will be there and your empty hands will fill with useless items at work and you'll have the same question twenty times. A hundred times. Other people will ask you if they know you from somewhere and you realize that it's been happening more and more lately. It's not YOU they know, it's the fear and the ocean behind your eyes. They've all been there. Everyone goes there, and everyone comes back... but not tonight. Tonight you're going deeper down the rabbit hole.
Two weeks from now when you decide you've had it, you're going to wish you quit that goddamn job tonight, since you're quitting anyway, eventually. You even have another job don't care about to cover your ass. The rent you don't pay and the words you don't say are on the opposite ends of the spectrum. You have it dollar easy and yet you feel that life is taxing, hard.
Tonight is going to turn into tomorrow, then the next day, then the next. By then you'll be so far gone you might not know who you are anymore. You might not be your job, but your job is putting up a fight to keep you from being anyone else.
I'm saying it again, who the fuck are you?
Sincerely,
Me
July 16, 2011
Keeping Your Cool
Today was HOT, in climate and on the panic meter. It started off mild. I got up, did some laundry and printed off my resume. Last night, Rebekah and I went thrift shopping and bubble tea-ing, and I discovered that my go-to bubble tea place was hiring. We had been talking about life plans, and while I'm not sure where I'm headed, whether it's Montreal or back to school, I know I'll need money to do it. So the focus is trying to get more work. I decided to apply to the bubble tea place, and went to do it today. I put on a nice floral dress, printed off my paper, touched up my make up and went off to impress.
When I walked in, I was thrilled to see that the girl behind the counter was someone I knew from high school. We had taken vocal classes together and were friendly acquaintances. We chatted amiably and I left with a really good feeling. I was in such a good mood I decided to stop at Starbucks before work. The good mood lasted as I pulled into the parking lot at work, sipping my iced green tea lemonade like everything was going my way! ...Then I realized that I had forgotten my uniform pants at my house. My fifteen-minute-drive-away-house.
After checking the breakroom to see if they had any spare pants (they didn't) I told my manager I was going to be late, sprinted out across the blistering parking lot, hopped in my car and raced home like I was in the Indy 500. Or I would have if I hadn't been stuck behind some guy who thought that MAXIMUM 60 meant GO JUST UNDER 50 KILOMETERS. When he finally went to turn left I turned to see if he was a senior citizen as I blazed by. I locked eyes with a middle aged man, who was glaring at me for making my car have bumsex with his. Sorry buddy.
When I got home I ran inside, accidentally shutting my finger in the front door. As I began to strip off my dress I could feel the pressure in my head rising, my finger throbbing, my nerves fraying. That's when I almost started to cry. Whether it was because I was in pain or because I was stressed about how important it was to get these stupid pants, which REALLY only give me granny bum, I was going to breakdown. Changed, I ran back, and began the race to work.
As I was driving, I thought: calm down. It's JUST work. In 50 years, this won't matter. I thought: keep calm, and carry on. I took a deep breath, my panic temperature went back to zero. It worked. I kept it cool.
Other ways to keep your cool? Wear LESS clothing. I can't seem to avoid layering in the summer, I just like it too much. So I tried to keep them minimalized, but add interest and colour with a vest (thrifted) and a scarf (gift from mama's trip to New Zealand.)
Shirt: MODA International
Shorts and Vest: thrifted
Scarf: Gift from NZ
Purse: Gift from England
When I walked in, I was thrilled to see that the girl behind the counter was someone I knew from high school. We had taken vocal classes together and were friendly acquaintances. We chatted amiably and I left with a really good feeling. I was in such a good mood I decided to stop at Starbucks before work. The good mood lasted as I pulled into the parking lot at work, sipping my iced green tea lemonade like everything was going my way! ...Then I realized that I had forgotten my uniform pants at my house. My fifteen-minute-drive-away-house.
After checking the breakroom to see if they had any spare pants (they didn't) I told my manager I was going to be late, sprinted out across the blistering parking lot, hopped in my car and raced home like I was in the Indy 500. Or I would have if I hadn't been stuck behind some guy who thought that MAXIMUM 60 meant GO JUST UNDER 50 KILOMETERS. When he finally went to turn left I turned to see if he was a senior citizen as I blazed by. I locked eyes with a middle aged man, who was glaring at me for making my car have bumsex with his. Sorry buddy.
When I got home I ran inside, accidentally shutting my finger in the front door. As I began to strip off my dress I could feel the pressure in my head rising, my finger throbbing, my nerves fraying. That's when I almost started to cry. Whether it was because I was in pain or because I was stressed about how important it was to get these stupid pants, which REALLY only give me granny bum, I was going to breakdown. Changed, I ran back, and began the race to work.
As I was driving, I thought: calm down. It's JUST work. In 50 years, this won't matter. I thought: keep calm, and carry on. I took a deep breath, my panic temperature went back to zero. It worked. I kept it cool.
Other ways to keep your cool? Wear LESS clothing. I can't seem to avoid layering in the summer, I just like it too much. So I tried to keep them minimalized, but add interest and colour with a vest (thrifted) and a scarf (gift from mama's trip to New Zealand.)
Shirt: MODA International
Shorts and Vest: thrifted
Scarf: Gift from NZ
Purse: Gift from England
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)