Last night, for the first time in over two years, I had a panic attack.
For those of you who have had a panic attack, I need not say much else. But for those of you lucky enough to have never been inflicted, this is a mild description of what it is like:
Every muscle in your body tenses up. Your hands clench into fists. You cannot breathe and start hyperventilating. Your chest tightens. You shake. You wail. You look desperately for something to break the tension that appears to be destroying you from the inside. You feel trapped and claustophobic. You experience a sense of complete loss of control like the walls are closing in, made worse by the feeling that you just cannot catch and control your breath.
Finally as it eventually starts to subside you feel despair and weakness all over your body.
It is different for everyone, but that's what it's like for me. Today I have a killer headache, puffy, sore eyes and 2-inch lump on my head where I banged it repeatedly against the cupboard door. You just want it to stop, you see, you'll do anything. It seemed more sensible that the vegetable knife in my right hand, or the pan of boiling water on the stove. I think you'd have to agree there.
I sound like a head-case. But those of you who know me know that I'm not. This could happen to anybody, really.
When James finally managed to calm me down and I was breathing normally it took a good 10 minutes before I could actually string a sentence together without breaking down again. He wanted to know what sparked it off. He's never seen me have a panic attack before and it scared him.
It was hard to say but I am always honest with him. James gets very angry with certain computer games. Normally I can ignore the yelling, screaming and ballstic controllers flying across the room, but for some reason, last night it triggered something: repressed memories I suppose and I know it has something to do with my Dad. He used to have such a violent temper. As a child I was terrified of him. I'm sure that's where it came from. But why it happened last night and no other time, I still don't know.
I spent the rest of the evening feelng guilty. It's my way. I hate the way my depression affects the people who care about me, and the panic attack had the same effect. I was also physically and emotionally weakened. Watching the eiosode of 'House' where Foreman is dying turned out to be a serious error. I spent the entire episode sobbing. I hate that feeling. It makes me feel so stupid and like I have no control. That's what's so horrible about the depression (I think some of you will agree) is the complete loss of emotional control. It's the reason why when people say "get over it" or "snap out of it" we feel like smashing their ignorant faces in. If we could, we bloody well would, wouldn't we?
I slept right through to 5am, but was plagued by nightmares, ranging from having devestating fights with close friends to trying to save an entire pod of beached whales. I woke wailing and unable to open my eyes, they were so swollen. At 7 I managed to drag myself out of bed and have spent the rest of the morning trying to stay awake and draw attention away from my face.
Sigh.
On a brighter note it's Friday and my printer is working again. Hurrah!
