I guess I am one of those people. One of those people that lacks the ability to think for only their needs and stomp on the jugular of others that refuse to jump to do their bidding or do so to climb to the top. In other words.... I am a nice person... to the core.... I am so flipping reasonably nice. And with that increased compassionately nice person that I happen to be... I am overly sensitive. Sure, I can blame this recent enlightenment to the dreaded M-word that also plagues me with hot flashes, but I truly believe that this nagging need to be so nice towards others is going to be the death of me!
For the past few weeks, heck, months, I have been doing my best to be reasonable. Considerate of others feelings that I suppress my not so positive attitude. Yep, flying in the cockpit of the malfunctioning hormonal plane from Menopausal Airlines is.... my "B-card". I am not saying that I am always the nicest person you will ever come across. There are times when I have had to use that dreaded B-card to get my point across. Of course, the only times I actually pulled out that vicious card is in times of extreme need to come out swinging. Usually in times when I was standing up for someone else, but I have been known to be one nasty piece of work when it is activated. Somehow, that lack of use of my B-card managed to let that nasty have some time to stew and marinate into something far bigger and meaner than I could ever imagine. It is literally clawing its way to the surface and with each slash of it's sharp talons... it is hurting me both mentally and physically.
With splitting headaches, sour stomach, body aches and pains.... it hits fast and furious. My nice tendencies are getting a beating every time I open my eyes. Sleep has been less than optimal. Back spasms that used to be almost set by a clock (usually happens around 3 in the morning), is now happening at completely unexpected times. Pain across my chest is bringing on the dreaded panic attacks that I thought were under control. Muscle cramps in my legs lasting far longer than the few minutes of pain into a 14 hour marathon of agony, along with a side of teetering on the threat of another cramp just under the surface. All it takes is one little stretch and I am back at square one.
While I would love to share this experience in a more verbal sense, I am reminded that I am surrounded with those other people that just don't give a flying fig about my agony. In fact, some of their actions (or better yet... non-actions), are pouring gasoline on an already blazing inferno that lies within me. Especially, when the dreaded anxiety and panic attacks hit me like a truck going 50mph into a steel-enforced brick wall head-on.
If you are ever wondering what a panic attack is like for me.... here it is in a nutshell...
I could be having a remotely good day and suddenly there is a crushing feeling in my chest that makes it hard for me to breathe. I feel dizzy and lightheaded. There are aches and pains that radiate from my chest, to my neck, shoulders and down both arms. These aches are dull in nature. Like things fell asleep without that pins and needles feeling attached. First thought is heart attack. My head starts to pound like there is a migraine coming and a sour stomach feeling is starting to brew. All I want to do is be in a safe place to die if my feelings are true and this is a heart attack or stroke about to hit. I think about my family and worry about DD. I silently plead with God for another day.
When I mention a safe place to die, I am talking about being at home. When I am at home, no matter how water damaged it is at the moment, or how messy it is.... I seem to calm down just enough to get past the panic. You see, panic attacks and anxiety are centered upon control. The loss of control causes panic, the feeling of control eases the tension. I am not all that certain why being at home helps me feel control, but realizing that home is the one place I am familiar enough with seems to help somehow. Could be a shame thing. Come to think about it.... making others uncomfortable is probably why I would prefer to go home to collect myself. Less strangers watching and all that seems to be why.
When these effects seem to settle down, I am back to my normal self. Maybe a little shaken over it, but I am back to being okay. I'll have a few body aches from tensing up, but my mind stops racing, my pulse slows down and my breathing is back to a normal rate. While these panic attacks are unpredictable, I usually handle them on my own. I tried to ask for DH to help me talk them down in the past, but calls to his work are just a one way ticket to getting yelled at and his form of a pep talk of to "suck it up and get over yourself". All that tough love has managed me to not rely upon my spouse for support and it is not DD's job to help her mother put herself back together after falling apart so abruptly. I could turn to my mother, but she seems to have the same mentality as DH and makes it even harder to relax. My father is dead, my brother is hard to find and my sisters are quite possibly even harder to find in times of need. Of course, one of my sisters is a nurse and she would give me the most clinical of responses of seeing a doctor and get medicated for it. Believe me.... I went down that road and I did not like the feeling those drugs made me feel. Especially, when you are not in a panicked state. Sure, if I was to panic and know when it would happen.... I could probably take a pill to counter the effects, but anxiety and panic attacks do not come with a schedule or a standard set of events to tell you otherwise. Some days it can be as simple as a back spasm that does not want to quit, or a muscle cramp in my leg that remains just calm enough to be tolerable, but if I was to stretch just so....
In all honesty, I have considered to go back to daily medications because I have learned that stress can be a factor in creating anxiety/panic attacks. My tried and true method of diffusing the situation through distraction, diversion and redirection is not working. Heck, embracing the ultimate fear that seems to be in the center of these attacks (the fear of death), seems to not stop these events from hitting me from out of the blue. I can say that almost 18 years of living without anxiety medications is pretty good, but I just don't know if I have the strength in me to make it another 18 years. I was really hoping that I could muscle through this dreaded trip on the M-train. Heck, I have handled most of it on my own so far. The hot flashes are uncomfortable, but I have managed them. The mood swings are another beast that I am struggling with, but with keeping my distance, it seems to be working on diminishing the drama. I do what is expected of me and then I go hide in another room for the duration. My outgoing personality at work has been crushed, but I do manage to keep the quality in my work at a high level. I just keep to myself while I am there and no longer really interact with my coworkers. Those sneaky, underhanded attempts at poaching clients and the games the drama makers are playing are still going on, but my distance from them seems to look like I have risen above the BS. It still hurts that there are truly vindictive people out there that have a goal to hurt me, but I am at such a level of pain that I just don't care about about the games being played. Anxiety and depression have a way of traveling in pairs these days, but I have that smiley face sign like those commercials in my hand and nobody is the wiser. I guess the reason why I am still reluctant of seeing the doctor and getting medicated is that my perpetual living in denial that everything is okay regardless of the misery will open the curtains to what is making me so miserable and just increase the knowledge of it. I can't change people with their intentions and what is the purpose? Changing myself is not going to make them change, too. I guess my consideration of going to the doctor is to make what I am feeling a little less intense. I just hoped that I could do this without spending for a copay to see a professional and paying for a drug to alter me. I am still that nice person. Just a little broken.
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