Under Pressure

I can't remember if I've written about this before or not, but recent events have gotten me unnerved enough that I want to get something written, perhaps as catharsis, or perhaps to solicit feedback and support from those who have gone through the same thing.

For over a year, I have suffered (mostly at night) from constant and increasingly terrifying anxiety attacks. Roughly thirty minutes after I drift off to sleep, I wake up with a start, feeling like my chest is crushing in on itself, leaving me unable to breathe and with overwhelming feelings of dread and imminent death. Sometimes I find myself calling out, trying to verbally grasp something tangible that can pull me through to safety; other times I just rock myself out of it, silently crying. In the last six months or so, I've found that using the deep breathing techniques I learned in my prenatal yoga class not only abate the feelings of terror, but also calm my rapid heartbeat and breathlessness.

If my memory serves me, the attacks first started when I moved to Fort Hood. Without rehashing my feelings about that place, I think it's fair to say that I was pretty depressed and felt isolated and out of sorts. Add a one-year old baby and (what seemed to be a) loss of career productivity to the mix and it made for one anxiety-producing situation. I assumed that once I returned to the comforts of my home, community and life in Michigan that my nighttime panic would subside, and for awhile, it did. But, gradually I found that they returned with increased frequency and vigor.

Last night was a clincher. I woke up with the same chest-crushing feeling as usual, but instead of being able to breathe it away, the panic and pain just lasted...and lasted. It was maddening and so terrifying. After awhile, I really started to believe I was going to die, and thoughts of my little girl came to mind. I envisioned her waking up the next morning, expecting me to come take her from her crib, but I never arrive, and she's in there, crying for hours on end. The thought that my little girl could feel abandoned while I lie dead down the hall, with no one coming to get her for hours...it was so overwhelming, and the panic I was already feeling was overtaken by this new anxiety. I felt myself going off the deep end and so I willed myself to breathe, breathe, breathe. Finally, I started to calm down, but I was so fearful of returning to sleep.

Today, I told a friend about this most recent occurrence, and she offered to let me text her every morning to say that I'm alive. If I don't text her, she'll know to call me and make sure everything is okay. Otherwise, she'll come over to check on Bryony. In the light of day, I was able to laugh at this and say, "You don't mind coming over to find my dead body?" She looked at me seriously and said, "I don't want to find your dead body, but I will come to your house if necessary to get your child. I'll take her out to my truck and hold her while I call 9-1-1." Now that's a friend.

This evening, while watching tv and texting to a friend, I found myself, out of nowhere, entering into a panic attack. I was so surprised that at first I didn't realize what it was. Then, the more I thought about it, the shorter my breaths became, and the more panic rose in my body, making my skin tingle and throat tighten. To fend it off, I called a close friend I'd been meaning to get in touch with. It worked. After a good hour-long conversation, my mind was far away from the attack.

But alas, it's now bedtime again, and I approach sleep with some trepidation. Perhaps my extreme exhaustion will overtake any tendency toward anxiety tonight, or at least, I hope it will.

I hope there is rest for w(e)ary.