The T-Rex of Anxiety

Alright.

I wrestled with writing this post for a few different reasons.

1) Admitting weakness is always a little difficult.

2) It was hard for me to allow myself to reflect on the bad parts of the last few weeks, when I was supposed to be on the trip of a lifetime.

3) I was afraid of being overwhelmed with advice from readers before I could get a handle on what I was going through.

However, I found that solidarity has actually been helpful for me, and that exposing my weakness in writing provides solidarity that can be helpful for others.

So here we go.

You know all those posts I just wrote about Europe? The ones that looked so exciting and wonderful? I didn't mention the ambulance in Bath, the complete restaurant bathroom meltdown in Rome, or the time when I left Versailles in a taxi because I freaked out in the hall of mirrors. For me, a lot of the trip was fraught with anxiety and panic attacks.

It started with one panic attack about a week before I left. True, I'd just gotten through with a hard year of teaching--during which I'd never had a real panic attack--but this one didn't seem to have a trigger I could pinpoint. I thought it was just a fluke.

Then we got to England, and I had one in Westminster Abbey during an ORGAN CONCERT. 

Seriously.
An organ concert.

Most people would find an organ concert a good excuse for a nap.

Two days later, I had one in the Jane Austen Center in Bath as we were eating lunch. It freaked me out so much that I asked our waitress to call an ambulance. The (friendly and angel-faced) EMTs checked my vitals and said everything was fine.

I was MASSIVELY HEALTHY other than feeling like I was dying.

I didn't even get to eat my fancy lunch scone or buy souvenirs.

After that, I was anxious about being anxious, which as we all know only breeds MORE anxiety.

New sites lost their glitter and excitement as I worried about crowds, heat, and what I would do if I had a panic attack there. Sometimes I could talk myself out of an attack. Sometimes I couldn't. Sometimes I just had to skip out on activities because I was too keyed up.

And the crowds were everywhere.

On our last day in Paris, we went to Versailles. I'd had an attack the night before, after a really full day of sightseeing, but I told myself that I could do this because all of my issues were in my head and  I'd already bought my ticket online and this was VERSAILLES, which was a PALACE, and I LOVE PALACES.

But then I couldn't do it.

There were too many people, it was WAY too hot, we were far from the hotel, I hadn't had lunch, and I couldn't get calm.

I told my wonderful, caring friends--whom I'd already held back from other experiences--that I could get myself a cab home. We prayed together and I left them behind in the palace.

But then I couldn't walk out to the taxi stop.

I just. Couldn't. Do it.

I made friends with some more EMTs, who helped calm me down and even got me to a sandwich shop so I could have some lunch. 

I tried to walk to the taxi stop again, and still couldn't do it.

I made more friends--this time with workers in the Versailles group tour office, where I had to sit and rest on the way to the taxi stop.

Finally, I DID IT. Four hours after I exited the palace, I made it home in a 60-euro taxi.

Emma and Christina thought I'd died and it was really awful.

Two days later, I was flying home from New York with a layover in Charlotte. I was exhausted and alone, and the New York plane was delayed by two and a half hours. By the time the plane took off, I was already shaking and feeling dizzy. When it landed, I made friends with yet more EMTs  (I probably made more friends than anyone else on this trip) , and in the end, went to the Charlotte ER. My sweet boyfriend drove to Charlotte, stayed with me in the ER, and took me home the next day.

He brought the roses that were supposed to be a surprise at the airport, and even held my throw-up bag and Gatorade as he silently prayed next to me.

For the first few days after I got back, I was dizzy, I didn't want to eat, I didn't want to talk on the phone--I didn't even want to leave my bedroom. It took me six days to leave the house, when Josh took me on a date to Walgreens.

Here's the thing: I know that I struggle with some anxiety, as a lot of people do, and that it manifests itself physically in different ways. But I've traveled a lot--shoot, lived in Asia for a year--and I made it through my first "real" year of teaching without any meltdowns. My anxiety symptoms were usually predictable and containable.

All these new attacks were scary.
I mean, imagine looking into the eyes of a hungry, drooling t-rex.
The heart-pounding terror, the tunnel vision, the need to get far, far, away.
Now imagine being handcuffed to the t-rex.

This is what it sounds like in my brain when I start to panic:

Panic:"Why do I feel dizzy? OH NO IT'S STARTING."

Reason:"Stop thinking about it, Laura. You know it's all in your head."

Panic:"GREAT. I'LL STOP THINKING."

Reason:"...Feel better?"

Panic:"NO, BECAUSE YOU INTERRUPTED WHILE I WAS TRYING NOT TO THINK."

Reason:"Don't freak out, Laura, you're fine!"

Panic:"YEAH. I'M FINE. I'M FINE I'M FINE."

Reason:"You're not going to pass out."

Panic:"OH NO. PASS OUT. NO. OK. PASS OUT. NO. FINE. THE FLOOR IS NOT CLEAN NO PASS OUT."

Reason:"C'mon, Laura! Think about something else or you're going to lose it!" 

Panic:"I CAN'T."

Reason:"Rainbows! Sunshine! Puppies! You're fine, Laura, so quit acting crazy!"

Panic:"CRAZY? GREAT. I'M CRAZY AND EVERYONE ELSE THINKS I'M CRAZY AND I CAN'T DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT AND NOW I'M DYING."

Reason:"Fine then, go ahead and die. I'll just sit over here until you're done."

It's not fun.

I am, however, leveling back out. I'm figuring out how to take care of myself and am becoming a lot more like myself again. I'm going places and spending time with friends with less anxiety. I think that getting into the routine of school again will be helpful.
And I've found that more people struggle with these issues than I thought--they just don't talk about it.

Canceling plans and pacing myself has been difficult, but I'm getting better.
In the meantime, I also have to learn how to speak nicely to myself.
I am capable.
I am loved.
I am ok.
I am not alone.
God knows what I need, He has sustained me, and He will continue to do it.