Saturday night, I had my worst panic attack in a long time.
It probably didn't help that my sister had showed me earlier that evening what she and the other nurses at work do when they're bored - they look up bookings for the county jail to see if they know anyone (sadly - both of us did, and I haven't lived in that county for 12 years!).
It probably didn't help that Woodstock's party, by everyone else's accounts successful, was one of the most miserable things through which I've subjected myself in months ... a virtual kaleidescope of sound and color and movement that threatened to send the whole world off kilter.
It probably didn't help that, with all my attempts to minimize traffic through the house on Saturday (thereby minmizing the impact on the rental carpet that is easy to stain and impossible to scrub), I have two HUGE spots that are going to require both time and money to remove.
It probably didn't help that there were SEVEN people spending the night Saturday night - guest room, nursery, living room, family room all had bodies in them and Woodstock was in our room. There was nowhere to de-program.
It probably didn't help that I woke up to Himself nearly smothering me (or so it felt) from a horrible dream, that I can only remember vaguely.
I started to sob hysterically. Himself, already perplexed by the fact that I would drastically spring to the other side of the bed if he happened to touch me, tried to calm me down.
The darkness was thick. I had to swallow any noise that came from the rising tide of panic engulfing me from the inside out, as Woodstock was sleeping soundly only feet away. I wanted to be held and yet the sensation of touch made me recoil. Every little thing, every little sensation, noise, sight - collectively was magnified into something greater. The whirring in my head was audible. The dread in the depth of my soul was palpable.
After I exhausted all of the emotional outburst of the attack, I fled to the bathroom (the only room not occupied by a sleeping body). I rescued my aromatheraphy bottles from the cavernous dungeous of the under-the-sink cabinet and ran a bath with a generous amount of lavendar bubbles. I ran the bath hot enough to sting my skin and require slow acclimation. I read about China's economy,disecting the panic attack to better understand the triggers and my reaction as I read about Chinese labor laws, factory conditions and rise to economic power.
I scrubbed my feet with an aromatherapy scrub. I lathered in lavendar. I inhaled deeply. I tried to visualize sleep. It worked so well that I napped for nearly an hour and woke to tepid water and wrinkled appendages.
I crept up the stairs for a glass of water, then back to my bedroom. Out came the fuzzy socks and medicated foot rub that takes the ache out of almost anything. Out came a fresh pillow and Himself's warm arms.
And I wondered how on earth to stop the crippling anxiety of the winter from creeping back in. Summer cannot last long enough.
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