My life has been pretty morbid as of late, so inevitable death has been a recurring theme in my daily thoughts. I’ve had some dreams i’d rather not even recreate here, but the most significant jolted me awake with the thought that my brother was gone. In the moments when i woke, my first thought was…
“I understand why people kill themselves. I understand why they just can’t handle the pain of loss.”
That’s the emo in me breaking through. Of course, after a few moments, i composed my thoughts a bit. But that underlying morbid idea of death was still looming in the air.
For someone who is overweight, i’ve always been pretty healthy. So when i began having spells a few weeks ago that left me feeling as though a stroke was imminent, it was not something i was ready for. A strange tingling feeling inside my head, intense heart palpitations, dizziness, inability to concentrate, facial numbness, thick tongue, and a terrifying cold clammy rush through my entire body. These spells didn’t last too long. Just long enough to scare the bejesus out of me. After a couple of weeks and a few instances of nearly calling 911, i finally made it to the doctor. He suggested an EKG and some blood work to begin ruling out possibilities. The very next day, the results were in:
“Well, you’re healthy. Could be an anxiety disorder”.
The good news is that there is nothing physically wrong with me.
The bad news is that there is something mentally wrong with me.
I’ve never had experience with anxiety. I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I’m actually a little angry that, of all the times in my life when tragedy was afoot, THIS is the instance that anxiety decides to kick in. When you’re anxious, you need someone to calm you down… but… not having someone to calm me down seems to be the only viable reason i’m anxious. Vicious cycle.
I felt as though i’ve been doing pretty well over the months since my breakup. It may not seem that way to those whose only interaction with me is this whiny blog, but i don’t speak of it in my daily life and i don’t let it affect my daily interactions. This is merely the overspill. Besides, it says it right there at the top of the page:
A LITTLE WHINE and a lot of cheese.
So it’s not like you didn’t know what you were getting into here. It’s not like that time you bought that old cheesy vhs at the Dollar Tree and brought it home only to discover it was actually softcore porn, but then you and your friend watched the whole thing anyway because it was hysterically terrible. Not that that ever happened…
In short, apparently suppression is not healthy after a breakup. Who knew? I felt like i just had to wait it out. Just wait for it to pass and then i’d be just fine. I figured i would hold out, eventually talk things through, and get closure some time later… like when he’s walking through the valley of the shadow of death and there is much gnashing of teeth. Some days i do want to vent all my anger and pain, but i don’t want to say anything i might regret, RIGHT? …uh oh… did you see that? Did you see what i just said? What makes me think i’m going to regret airing out the truth? Yep. There it is. Denial.
So, in conclusion, everytime i start to fall asleep, i jolt awake and think i’m dying. It’s the opposite of soothing. I see the doctor once more in a couple of weeks to see how i’m doing and if medication is needed and blahblahblah. I really don’t want to rely on medication, so i’m hoping this ends just as abruptly as it began. Like, now. Now would be good.
In the meantime, the whole ordeal has definitely been enough to scare me into some life changes. The days of feeling invincible are over. Maybe these panic attacks are a blessing in disguise. Maybe this will startle me awake. Maybe i’ll begin seeing things in a whole new light. Maybe the world will seem more colorful again.
I’ll miss you, diet Mountain Dew. I’ll miss you evening wine. Venti iced coffee w/soy, i think i’ll miss you most of all.