Fear

I had a panic attack this morning.  It was the first time I had been paralyzed with anxiety in more than a month and a half.  It has been 49 days since the last time I was so consumed with fear and self-loathing.  But this morning, I woke up and my demons owned me.  As I laid in bed, trembling, I recited the serenity prayer.  Over and over and over. 

Even though it has been 49 days since the last episode, panic has become a very practical means of self-deprivation for me.  While I have suffered from anxiety my entire adult life, until three years ago, it was sporadic at best.  But over the last few years, it has become a constant.  Dismal outlooks and paranoia have replaced optimism and rationality.  For nearly three years, I was captive to my personal doomsday prophecies.  They consumed me on a daily basis.  So, when they became less frequent, I found a way to worry about that, too.   Until something unseen forced me let go of it.  For 49 days. 

Now, to be clear, the 49 days didn’t come without hardship or ambiguity.  They didn’t come without frustration or concern.  It’s not that I spent 49 days free of worry, dancing through sunny meadows and singing show tunes.  It was more that I got to spend 49 days without suffering the hopeless and relentless monologue I had repeated to myself for so long.  Kind of like how people who aren’t suffocated by their own fears live.  And I am not going to lie to you.  That month and a half was magnificent.  It was liberating.  It was like being on an all-expenses paid vacation.  Then, I was returned to reality by riding in the luggage compartment of the plane, then strapped to the grill of a dump truck for the 80 mile trip from the airport.  It was just another reminder, that you don’t get anything for free. 

When I woke up this morning, the sun hadn’t even risen.  I laid in bed until I saw darkness transition to first light.  I knew what was happening, so I got up and I walked outside and watched the morning sun announce itself.  I had no coffee; no cigarettes.  I just sat and listened to the Matt Nathanson channel for a few minutes. I walked back in the house, got in bed, and stayed there for the next four hours.  I tried to sleep.  I couldn’t.  Every time I felt the calming pull of slumber, I woke with a new fear.  I tried to read.  Every time I found myself caught up in the story, I stopped myself from divulging any further in the escape.  I was afraid that any distraction I could find was cause for punishment.  So, finally, I succumbed to simply lying in bed, reciting the Serenity Prayer, and hoping for the worst. 

When I finally got up and was forced to face responsibility, I realized what was happening.  The panic had returned.  It had consumed me, once again.  I was scared.  I wasn’t scared that it was back.  I was afraid of how easily the slippery slope cascades in my mind.  One minute I’m thinking about protecting my child, the next minute, I’m convinced that I will lose my job, house, and custody.  Fear shows no reason.  It only perpetuates more fear.  And when you let fear into your thoughts, rationality is the first thing it consumes. 

-Inner Peas