The LAST thing you should do to a person with massive anxiety is put them in a small tube, with their head in a cage. Come on, med school 101 right? Don't cage crazy people.
Yesterday, I had to do just that. Except, I was the one being caged.
Surprisingly enough, this is actually a topic I haven't covered on my blog, and we all know there aren't many topics that go untouched-especially if it's TMI or anything revolving around my neurosis, sex, or my desire to be enlightened and famous (oxymoron?)
For the past three years I've struggled seriously with anxiety. And not just the sweaty palms, I'm nervous about "blah blah blah" kind of thing. It's the knock down, breathe stealing, "I'M GOING TO DIE RIGHT THIS SECOND" kind of panic attack. It starts of gradually, my right hand goes numb, then I can't feel my ear, then the right side of my face, then everything sort of spins and all ability to rationally talk myself out of freaking-the-fuck-out goes out the window. I start pacing, or excuse myself to some bathroom stall where I repeat a series of affirmations surrounding me in white light and sparkly bubble gum pink glitter. Yeah....are we still friends? Then read on...
I deal with it on a daily basis, usually and have only had three massive panic attacks- one in LA, one in NYC, and one in Amsterdam where it felt like the Red Light District was caving in on me. I ran, full on SPRINTED past boobs and delicious marijuana, back to my hotel where I suddenly became religious and screamed to the sky, "I'm not ready to diiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee." Then I woke up the next morning and poof! still alive, just a little more crazy than the day before.
In between times like that, the people who are closest to me start seeing signs when I tug on my ear, or start twirling an imaginary baton in my right hand. This is usually when My Love steps in and does anything to distract me, often that means giving me a cocktail or singing the first song that comes to his mind, which has just so happened to be "Tomorrow" by Annie. Don't know what prompted it but it was helpful nonetheless (or nonethefruitness)
Like I've noted before, Googling symptoms is bad. It does for Worry-Warts what circling the pie counter at Village Inn does for fat people trying to lose weight. It's a downward spiral always.
So as I'm sitting in this metal-tube-cage-hell I'm thinking to myself....I could really go for a few Codeine washed down with tequila. I've ALWAYS refused to take meds.....I'd go a little "Tom Cruise" and talk about self healing when people suggested it because I'm kind of a hippie like that, but when the Dr's told me the symptoms were that of anxiety, but also linked to other HORRIFYING-GREYS-ANATOMY-LIFE-THREATENING-SHAVE-YOUR-HEAD-SAY-YOUR-GOODBYES-HOSPITAL-DEATH symptoms, I took the precaution to get an MRI. If (and hopefully) there's nothing beyond what can't be cured with yoga and a Vicodin every now and then.
Exactly how much "crazy" can an MRI detect???
I stood there looking at the scans of my brain in my living room this morning and thought, "Well, I don't see any tennis ball shaped bumps." This squiggly, creepy little thing stared back at me. The thing that houses all of my dreams, my knowledge, stories, fears. The thing that creates the anxiety in first place, that tells my heart to beat and hands to feel...this little mushy thing, is so. fragile. I wanted to hug it and tell it "I promise brain, I will take care of you because you've taken care of me.....please be kind...."
So now that I'm all emotional and brain-loving, I feel like maybe that's exactly what I needed to see to start healing the anxiety. Who knows, maybe some meds wouldn't be too bad....Until then, we'll keep our fingers crossed that I am healthy inside, and meanwhile I'll be better about taking care of the outside.
I should consider managing my stress....maybe that would help???