Better

I'm scared I'm scared I'm lost I'm scared I'm lost-

"Laura."

I'm scared I'm scared I'm lost I'm-

"Laura!"

I'm scared I'm lost I'm lost AND scared oh no woe is me everything is ruined forever~

I snorted, amused. When the overly-melodramatic part of my brain made fun of itself for being overly-melodramatic, I knew things weren't that bad. This was my first anxiety/panic attack in a while - and the first I had had in front of this cute boy I had been seeing recently. 

"I'm having a panic attack," I told him frankly. "Or maybe it's an anxiety attack, I've never really been able to figure out the two because in a panic attack you're supposed to be worried about something right now like dying or losing control or something where in anxiety you're worried about the future and both really suck but I like panic attacks better because you know they'll end but heightened levels of anxiety can last for a really long time..."

He nodded, smiling a little in the corners of his eyes. I kept rambling.

"See the first thing I have to do is hear my thoughts and know what I'm thinking but I can't hear them, it's like a river, or white noise or static, just too many things too fast all at once, GOD I feel weird."

This was a weird one - it had started with a thick, smothering blanket of unreality, with healthy doses of dizziness, desensitization, and shaking - atypical enough that it had taken me a panicked while to figure out what the fuck was going on. Knowing it was only a panic attack helped - I was scared, but I wasn't lost. Not anymore, not ever again.

"Would it help if I talked for a while?" He asked. "I could tell you about when my mom had a panic...?"

I thought about it, then nodded my assent. He tucked an arm around me - comforting but not constraining - and started talking. I listened, relieved, and my thoughts slowed to a mere torrent. I could work with a torrent.

When his story was done, I told him, "I'm going to talk for a while. Is that okay? I need to identify the thoughts, find the distortions, and contradict them using evidence to the contrary."

He thought for a moment. "Would you like me to answer back to you, or just listen?"

"Just listen." I looked at him and touched the corner of his eye, where a smile still lingered. He wasn't worried that this was happening. More like he was happy to watch me handle it so well. Okay, that's mind reading and another distortion, but whatever the reason, he was an old hat at panic and anxiety. It was awesome to have someone around who was calm... but what was even better was the fact that I still had a grip on myself. Unlike all the other times, I knew what was happening. I could do this.

So I started talking, which sometimes morphed into rambling or ranting, but I kept myself mainly on track. What was I thinking? What was the paradox that formed panic? Where were the absolutes? What was the evidence to the contrary? 

The answers took shape, slowly: I was worried because the new insurance people wouldn't cover my meds; I needed a refill, and if they didn't hash it out with the doctor's in time, I would be going out of town for a whole week without my meds. Cold turkey. What a way to fuck a vacation. That was worth a panic or two, but it wasn't going to happen - worse case, I would just go and pay the $130 for my meds and fuck insurance. Pricey, but worth it. Okay. What else?

Work - I was supposed to be there in six hours but I was panicking and short on sleep already; I wouldn't be functioning in six hours, not well enough to take care of children. They were short on people so I had to go - no, I didn't have to go. I'd be more of a liability, going in like this, and they'd be able to play the numbers game to get it to work. That still made me freak out a bit.

More? Yep. I wasn't at home, and totally didn't trust myself to drive like this. What could I do? Stay the night? I knew I was welcome but I didn't have any contact stuff or any sleep meds, like the ones I had been taking. If I took out my contacts to sleep without solution, I wouldn't be able to drive home in the morning. And in this wound up state, I had a snowball's chance in hell of getting to sleep without any chemical help. Shorting myself on sleep would just make me even more fucked over.

So I talked and I talked until the immediate problems were clear; then I went about solving them. I called into work and said I was sick; I called Mom to let her know I was okay but not going to be home that night. Then the cute boy and I walked Grand Avenue in the witching hour to the 24 hour Super America for Advil PM, a contacts kit, some doughnuts and a pint of ice cream.

We took the ice cream up to the roof and sat under the stars in the middle of a heated discussion about the ego versus the id when discussing the soul, and the lovecraftian idea that hell was to glimpse something beyond the ken of mankind.

Back inside, I fell asleep when he was showing me a beautifully creepy video game called Limbo. I remember rolling over to make room for him beside me, then reaching out to hold his hand - only to find that he was reaching for my hand too.