Tears for Fears

Driving home from my failed road trip attempt due to a panic attack, I sat in the front passenger seat, puffy faced with saltwater from my tears dried onto my cheeks and eyelids. My head felt full and swollen – to that point where it kind of feels like a head cold or maybe even sinus infection. It seemed like my eyes were kind of half open. I’m pretty sure I was staring blankly out the window with my mouth partly open too. At least I wasn’t drooling.

I could feel the dizziness and arm numbness dissipate, slowly, but surely. That arm thing threw me for a loop though. Thank God for Google because in the throws of my panic I looked up symptoms of a panic attack to make sure that’s what was happening and I wasn’t having a stroke or heart attack or something else equally terrifying. Because yes, Google holds all truth and fact. (kidding) But it does come in clutch in a pinch.

Other than that, nothing. It was blank. My mind that is. And still. Even my body was still.

I would catch myself staring out the window with not a thought in the world going through my head. Occasionally I’d snap out of it and wonder if I had exhausted my brain. Since I basically had with all the crazy running narratives and thoughts plowing through my mind. I’d wonder if this is it. Is this my new normal?

That thought was even scarier than the full panic attack itself.

When we got home, I sat on the couch. I wanted to nap, but I couldn’t really sleep. I kept thinking about the rest of my life. Managing one of these to the next, to the next, to the next and so on.

My husband would check on me from time to time, in between dealing with the kids or other random crap he was doing to stay busy. He’d stop to ask how I was doing. A few times he’d rub my back or give me a hug. Any time he’d make personal contact I’d cry again, just as I did when he first arrived to rescue me from the Walgreen’s parking lot where I was failing to fend off my panic attack.

I hated crying. It makes me feel helpless – powerless. I hate feeling powerless. But the fact was, I felt powerless. So, the crying was just the cherry on top.

I’d bury my face in my husband’s chest and hold it in so hard that my throat would hurt like I was holding in an inflating balloon. I’d have to gasp for air to keep the tears in. It wouldn’t always work though because like any over-inflated balloon – it bursts. And that’s when the waterworks flowed again.

The tears weren’t from relief like they were earlier in the night when he came to my rescue. They were tears…for fears. Holy crap! I just had an epiphany about the meaning of that band name from the 80s. Sorry for that squirrel – but this whole experience is about learning, no matter how small, random or ridiculous. Maybe we’ll save this education on the origins and practice of primal therapy for another blog post.

But really, the crying at this point in the night was out of fear what was going to happen next.

I had woken up in the morning hoping to seize this next day as if nothing had happened. That was my goal. I had hoped and even prayed that I would wake up and my mind would reset – go back to normal. I was exhausted. I was drained. Was it because I decided that today was the day to say no to coffee – or caffeine altogether? Let’s be real, probably. Because this mama requires her cup a day to function. But Dr. Google also told me that caffeine can trigger anxiety so this was day one of a new journey to figure this s*** out.

As the morning turned to afternoon, it became clear that this was more than a lack of caffeine. I was dragging not just in my body but in my mind. I was in a funk. A fog. I was drained. I think I sat on the couch for a solid two hours trying to decide if this was exhaustion or depression.

I went back up to my room. I just wanted to disappear so my family wouldn’t have to see me zombie out in the living room, acting as if I was the newest throw pillow on the sofa. I couldn’t think a positive thought. Replaying the whole damn previous night’s events in my head had me sitting somewhere between the verge of a full on mental breakdown or another panic attack.

My internal dialog ran: Would these panic attacks ever end? What would life be like living like this constantly? Didn’t sound enjoyable! Would I have to get medicated? Are the medications addictive? Shit – there’s a bit of addictive history in my family. I don’t want that to become my life. F*** what if this leads to depression? Oh my God, what if leads to self-destruction or suicidal thoughts? What if this is the start of my demise? The end of me and my family as I know it.

I was teetering on the edge of another attack. My goddamn irrational stream of consciousness led me to it.

My husband came into the bedroom to check on me. As I was laying on the bed, he came to sit beside me. “Be strong,” he said. “You have to be strong and you will get through this.” But I felt like maybe this is why I was breaking down. I’m always being strong. I can’t even cry without feeling guilty and weak.

As I thought about how I got here, I came to the conclusion. I’m tired. Maybe this is normal. I’m at that midpoint in my life where real adult stuff begins to pile up. The last year has sucked, thanks to COVID-19. My dad’s one-year anniversary of his death is coming right up. My husband has overcome some serious health issues in the last couple years, which was preceded by a decade of uncertainty. We also lost my mom four years ago. And kids. Kids just wear you the F out!

As we talked, and I cried a bit more, I realized a couple more things.

1. I’ve got some work to do on my mental health. I’ve got to figure out how to reel my brain in when it finds a random rabbit hole to go down.

2. Post panic attack hangovers are a real thing. And they’re exhausting! Plan to lay low a couple to a few days after.

Oh, and one more thing…

3. Just f***ing cry. You’ll feel better.