Anxiety Know No Logic

We have nothing to fear but fear itself.
Winston Churchill

That is an absolute, inescapable truth about chronic anxiety and anxiety disorders. While we attribute out fears, phobias, and anxiety to external factors, the fact of the matter remains. It is the fear that drives the anxiety.

Recently, I have experienced what is perhaps the longest bout of anxiety in my course of treatment. I did not realize it at first. Anxiety sees the first sparks from reasonable reaction to an external stressor.

I have an abundance of stress-inducing events and circumstances all seemingly happening at once. My grandmother’s health and mind are failing. To be frank, she is dying. I have accepted it. She is eighty-five, and has had diabetes longer than I have been alive. This is nature’s way.

I mourn her passing while she still lives. It pains me that I am alone in this, and makes me anxious just the same. What horrible person stands ready with the casket open and the hole dug?

 

Anxiety is an asexual creature in the sense that anxiety begets anxiety in itself. It feeds off of one singular thought. “What if?” It does not have to be phrased as such, but it remains constant. Anxiety breeds more anxiety in the circular logic that one anxiety attack heralds many more. Anticipatory anxiety.

I abhor change. Mostly, it is ripe with problems that multiply like mice in a cascading domino effect. Even when it is a step toward something better, that fact still remains. And in certain circumstances, it is enough to have the whole thing come crashing down. Mouse trap. Caged in one’s own folly.

If we step back, even for a moment, the entire incredible illogical reaction is laughable. Anxiety is curious in the way that it narrows one’s focus, and puts a set of blinders on it’s victims. There is no sight beyond that immediate threat, and other threats that surround it. Often, we are unable to take that step to see beyond.

Or any step, for that matter. Fight or flight? Neither. Freeze.

Some animals in the wild, when in fight or flight, often freeze. Deer in the headlights. It is an attempt to camouflage into the surroundings, as opposed to fighting a losing battle, or fleeing from a quicker predator. Anxiety often evokes the freeze mechanism. It is an enemy that we cannot see, therefore we cannot run, and we cannot fight.

Worse, is the belief that there is no place to hide.

Why so much fear in the fear itself? How could one possibly cower in the face of an invisible enemy?! It’s absurd!

Until one has been victim of that transparent, intangible foe.

Faded. Tired. Uninspired.

I’m in hiding.

I can’t put my finger on it. What the hell is going on with me? I feel like I’m doing laps around it. Hotter, colder, colder, hotter. No matter how hard I search, I cannot get a grasp on the object of my torment.

This has rendered me useless. Depression, as it deepens, always has a way of crippling me and all of my abilities. But, there’s more to it than just depression. There always is. I feel it, aching in my bones, coursing through my veins as molasses.

I suppose I have gone on about depression in posts prior. But, I’d like to take some time to describe the state, and then dissect the function, or lack thereof.

It’s like being fatigued, without being physically tired or exhausted. My mind is exhausted, easily overwhelmed by the overbearing world. Too bright, too loud, too – everything. It’s too much. That’s the spark for panic. I’ll come back to this.

I don’t feel like I’m here. It’s like walking in a dream state sometimes. Things are blurred around the edges, and no matter how hard I squint, it doesn’t get any clearer. Some things cannot register when I attempt to remember them. I saw it vividly, and I can almost get it. Almost.

Almost there, but not even close.

My mind cannot draw a straight line between two ideas. Everything doesn’t fragment, as much as the ties that bind loosen. Nothing sticks, I’m teflon. It all slides away into this black abyss I’m constantly staring into.

How far down do you think it is?

Even when I am able to hold something as my own, I choke on my words. I am drowning on dry land. I sputter, but it refuses to come out.

This dreadful shadow looms over me, blocking out any sunlight. No matter where I move in my attempts to come into the sun, I cannot outsmart it. I cannot evade it, and we remain bound.

Me and my shadow.

It stands, judging me. My judgment day, yesterday, today, tomorrow, and who can know how many days I will be followed by the watchful eyes? All I see are these dark, glaring eyes from far above, peering down at me. I swallow, but a lump has grown, making each gulp like choking down broken glass.

The Panic.

Vacuums the air right from my lung, harder than getting the wind knocked out of you. And I gasp for it, like I were attempting to breathe through a straw, filtered on the tip with cheese cloth. The air is thin and scarce. Drowning, on dry land.

My nerve endings are so frayed that they are deadened, save for a few sparks that set little fires about this paper house. Paper. It could come apart at any moment. A little wetness will dissolved the whole damn thing. A good gust will blow it over. And if anyone were to come after me, they could shred it, and simply grab me up by my collar to drag me away. I’m not even sure I have the fight in me to make one last stand.

Because gravity is holding harder than usual. Everything is heavier. I am being pulled closer, and closer to the earth. And when I fall, it will swallow me up, and I will be no longer.

I press on.

But, it watches me. It invokes a gripping fear that puts the vices on my heart. If I speak, it squeezes harder. It pushes me further. I witness the world move around me, and I beg so much to be apart of it. No matter where I am, or who I am, or what I am doing, I will always only get as close as brushing the fringes with my fingertips.

. . .

Singular thoughts, even just notions, are enough to whisper me into hiding. Four concrete walls. Buried fifteen feet into myself. Radio silence.

What is there to say anyway?

I’m faded through and through. My words, my ideas, flimsy and translucent. The focus blurs, and the letters just mesh into ink blobs.

And things start falling apart.

Bricked

I decided on Friday that I was going to take a mini vacation from myself over the weekend.

And it was fantastic! I took my full doses of medicine and smiled. I grinned ear to ear at all of the things stretched to near transparency and the rest that’s hanging by a thread. I went grocery shopping at a local market, on a Saturday morning when it’s always packed with people, and loved every minute of it. I eagerly sampled all they had to offer and just enjoyed the flavor of something new.

Saturday was the white ponies, double rainbows, and gold dust dreams are made of. It was an easy day like Sundays are supposed to be. I was well-rested and in great company. We ended up spending about $150 on groceries that will take us through about 3 weeks. Conversations took place where not a single whisper of the lawsuit existed.

All of T.D.’s Christmas presents were purchased by C.S. and a good friend while T.D. and I napped. And later, we drove around aimlessly and found a 24 hour doughnut shop not too far from home. Any hour of the day, there are doughnuts to be purchased! How incredible is that?

Oh my, do I have a penchant for rambling!

Sunday. Well, I don’t actually believe that was the day God rested. If so, then wouldn’t that be the last day of the week in the Christian calendar?

Sidebar – A Little About Lulu v. Religion

I was brought up a good little, white, blonde, pink cheeked Episcopalian. Just like all of my Scottish ancestors before me. I was baptized, confirmed, and married in a small church in my hometown.

The church itself was built by the parishioners in 1930, with their bare hands. The diocese only lent them enough to build the church itself. Sometime in the 1940’s, the parishioners took it upon themselves to dig out an undercroft, so they may have a common area to meet. My grandfather and his brothers were among those men.

As you can see, my family is deeply rooted in the church. My aunts and mother ran the Sunday School. My grandfather was the financial officer and my grandmother headed every charity event. I was a dedicated member for my entire youth.

There are events surrounding my separation from the church that were beyond my control. I was invited back five years later. But after living in a Jewish community for awhile, my ideas of faith and religion had deviated from Episcopal practice.

Throughout the years, I have been actively involved charity events, but rarely spotted at mass. The church has been facing some serious problems, and I’ve wanted to help so much. But, C.S. isn’t much for wanting to get up early on Sunday morning.

End Sidebar

C.S. has been the one dragging me out of bed on Sunday morning! Somewhere along the way, he’s had a change of heart. I can really only speculate – but in any case, it’s been nice.

Sort of.

This is where the frenzy begins. T.D. went number 2 and we didn’t bring wipes. I was ripped away from a project I didn’t know when I’d get back to.

Then, in the afternoon. It happened.

I was toying with the new Blackberry App World. I should know better. I’ve bricked dozens of computers from downloading things. PC’s aren’t anything I can’t fix. I graduated with honors from a Microsoft Certified School. But, I don’t know much more about the workings of a Blackberry than what can be pulled from Crackberry.com’s forums.

Tallulah froze.

No, no, no, no, no, no, noooo!!!

Stupid 3rd party apps. I waited until we were finished with dinner and told C.S. that I had to get my phone fixed ASAP. And that required me to sit upstairs, hooked to a USB cable, silently loathing myself for the entire debacle.

I wasn’t up there ten minutes before C.S. yelled up. “What are you doing?” Even more irritating, I had to get up and go into the hallway to talk to him because he’s deaf in his left ear. “I’m trying to fix my phone.”. “Still?”..

Eye roll. Yes, still!

Another ten minutes goes by and I hear C.S. yelling at T.D. There were some crashes and T.D. crying. I flew down the stairs and demanded to know what was going on. My kid was acting up. Big surprise.

Everything was busy loading, so I stayed awhile to get them settled again. Then, I excused myself back to the Blackberry battle.

“Lulu, could you come help me?” Back down. Up and down, a dozen times in two hours for every little thing.

I helped C.S. get T.D. into the bathtub, and once again, I took my leave. Fifteen minutes elapsed and I heard a crash, bang, boom! T.D. was hysterically crying and C.S. was hollering. All while I’m jumping two and three stairs at a time screaming, “What happened?!”

I scooped my son, wet and naked, into my lap and hugged him. C.S. began explaining that he ran off and must have slipped. My boy was fine in a minute, jumped out of my lap, and ran off to do his thing.

Suddenly, I was filled with rage at the whole ridiculous, irritating, infuriating situation. I clenched my fists and ground my teeth. I grabbed the item closest to me (thankfully, a little plastic tube), and hurled it at the fireplace. C.S. stood behind me and asked, “What the hell is wrong with you?” Every muscle in my body tightened and locked. And I pounded my fist onto the floor. Repeatedly.

“What’s wrong?!”

I snarled and screamed, “I can’t even do anything without getting interrupted by every little thing!”

He responded, “I can’t handle T.D. by myself. I just can’t do it.”

I yelled at the top of my voice, “I do it, by myself, everyday! I was doing it all by myself the day after my surgery!!!”

He went silent. I guess walking a mile in my shoes caused a few blisters. And I was left in peace to finish the repairs.

I know. My fit was absolutely outrageous. Honestly, I couldn’t stop it. It all came on so fast! I rarely have tantrums like that, but I was so overwhelmed! It was such a strong I was obligated to act.

Am I alone in the indulgence of inappropriate expression?

The Real Demons

We just passed Halloween, the day where we essentially celebrate ghosts and demons by pretending to be someone else. I love Halloween. But, I have experienced real demons. It’s not something I care to revisit at any time, not even annually.

The subject of Judge William Adams shook me like an earthquake. The tremor was so intense that a number of bottles on my shelf plunged to the floor. This has conjured up very old, very dangerous demons.

Repression is a defense mechanism I had to cultivate. Prior to that, I carried the burden of the emotions that those memories conjured up from their brimming cauldrons. Then, a cycle is perpetuated from those. The circular motion of violence is born, doling out vicious events with dire consequences. Repression is amazing in it’s function. Get over it.

I do not attempt to invoke pity. In fact, I’d rather be despised than pitied.

Get over it has to be emblazoned on my family crest in centuries past along with Suck it up. I learned my lesson by developing pneumonia and somatopsychic symptoms over the summer. It should have inspired me to do some “fall cleaning”. I failed to check under my bed for the boogeyman. Funny, I didn’t see him – I spent most of my summer under there attempting to locate my black leggings.

I need a sounding board. But, I have to divulge some more sordid details of my past before I can get to that.

Yeah, we’ve covered the child abuse in my life. Unfortunately, that paved the way.

I’ve covered my tumultuous relationship with my high school sweetheart. What I didn’t mention was how he violated me. Ugh. I can’t even bear to use the appropriate word: rape.

I trusted him. I consented and then changed my mind. It was physically painful. He pinned me, and smothered my screams in a pillow. “Why didn’t you stop?!”

He lit a cigarette and smiled. “Oh, shut up. You liked it.”

It’s haunting.

I was determined never to be a victim again. That inspired my mutually abusive relationship following. “Love The Way You Lie” on Youtube can give a visual representation. It was the first and last time I ever intentionally harmed someone. I just wanted to hurt him as badly as he hurt me on the inside. I wanted him to wear those battle wounds and carry them with him for the rest of his life. Because I knew I would.

I’m ashamed as much as I’m hurt.

I accidentally opened this Pandora’s box. These memories flooded in with all of the emotions that have infected my brain and stirred my disease. It has colored my world. I am angry, bitter, paranoid, and sullen all at once. Now that the box is opened, what do I do now?

What can ward off demons? Because I know holy water in a super-soaker won’t do it.

It’s Not Okay

No. No big girl pants. No brave face. No confident words or bright sides. This is Lulu – crumpled in a ball.

Maybe the prospective consequence of this surgery I wrote about yesterday in Taking the Bullet didn’t have time to sink. Or maybe there was some kind of mental safety barrier I built around the subject. In any case, everything collapsed into a pile of rubble with a giant plume of dust and a flood behind it.

C.S. and I were going to make breakfast – a common occurrence on Saturday morning. But, in order to cook, some cleaning was required first. I offered to do it. I am painfully aware that I have been a little neglectful of domestics. But, C.S. insisted, and didn’t hesitate to be incredibly nasty while pointing it out.

“I’ve had a bad week.”
“You’ve had one bad day!”

I felt it building, like a swirling, chaotic ball inside my solar plexus. All of the emotions I’ve dampened and thrust inward boiled, as if a roaring fire was now ablaze under their container. Flashbacks flooded my mind. I was trapped in my head, still and gazing with an empty stare across a crowded classroom. I was lying on stomach, underneath three blankets, with a pillow wrapped around my head. I was intently watching the noon news report and cringing each time I heard a door open.

These are absolute truths from the very back, of the very bottom shelves, where the most volatile substances are stored.

“I am in no shape. Back off.”
“You know there’s nothing that irritates me worse than…”

I stopped listening. There is nothing more combustible to a situation than his deaf ear, narrow mind, and dug in heels. A major irritation paled in comparison to the tumultuous storm of explosive materials about to emerge. His complaints were a slow, low string of murmurs only punctuated by breaths to gain more steam. I stood at the counter, shaking so badly that I could no longer handle a knife.

And it rang as clear as a bell, “This is a routine procedure. They do thousands of them a day. It’s no big deal.”

“It IS a BIG DEAL!”, I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “If I hemorrhage, I could die! If my blood pressure tanks again and they can’t get it under control, I could die! And even if I don’t die, what happens if one of my adjacent organs gets a slice? I end up with a colostomy bag?!”

“It’s okay if you get a poop bag,” he joked.

“No! It’s not okay if I have to have a poop bag! It’s not okay if I lose a kidney or liver function! And it’s especially not okay if I lose my ability to have a baby! Nothing about this is okay!!! It’s NOT okay!!!”

My hands were flat against the counter with my arms outstretched. I heaved and violently sobbed. I squeezed my eyes shut and trembled. The tears poured down my cheeks and onto my chest.

Two strong, warm arms closed around me. He brought me against his chest in a firm embrace. I turned to throw my arms around his neck and bury my face into his shoulder. In that moment, I was secure. I was safe, at least from myself.

“Whatever happens, we’ll take care of it.”

I’m not okay. And, I can’t even attempt to pretend anymore. The integrity of the whole farce has disintegrated past salvageable. There is no footing along that path anymore. All I can to is come to terms with this.

November 10th or 11th, S-Day. Only 11 or 12 more days.

Big Money, No Whammy, STOP!

What does it feel like to have 20 Grand hanging in the balance?

I ran I Bet Jekll Felt This Way past C.S. a couple of nights ago, in so many words. I rarely read directly from the page. I’ve gotten in hot water by doing that before. Sometimes, there are just some words that shouldn’t pass from my lips.

He stood across the kitchen poking through the elephant box while I sat at the table. He suggested, “Maybe it’s one of the supplements. Are you taking any new ones?”

I answered, “No, not really. I started Adrenomend again, and I’ve already been taking the Brain Energy for a few weeks now.”

“I’m going back down to bare bones. Something is causing me a problem again,” he mentioned, as he swallowed a handful of supplements.

I considered his suggestion. But, I knew that my brain can’t survive a chemical shift without shifting itself. I wasn’t about to add fuel to the fire and risk facing something scarier than this. I’m taking about a dozen supplements for various reasons. I wouldn’t be able to break something else before figuring out how to fix this.

Doctors recommend ceasing all medications / supplements when it’s impossible to discern which one is causing the problem. What about just starting the shed the most recent ones, regardless of whether they have worked in the past? There are only two potential risks. Either I take something away that causes a bad day, or I don’t take away the right one and I continue in the state of dyphoric hypomanic paranoia.

I took away the two most recent additions, Adrenomend and Brain Energy. C.S. suggested taking away Adrenomend, because he had a bad reaction in the past.

Of course, he suggested that the panic attacks were rebound anxiety from “too many benzos”. “That’s their gimmick, give you medicine that causes anxiety.” I’ve been on these for two months now. You’d think I would’ve had a reaction by now. Well, I am the woman who had a life-threatening reaction to an epidural 20-25 minutes after receiving it. *Shrug*.

So far, so good. Yesterday, I managed to handle surprise fire drill with no problem. I’m not anxiety free, but I’m panic free without my midday Xanax. I’m a little more fatigued than usual, so that indicates something was pushing me toward hypomania. The anxiety might be residual. Anxiety is like a virus in the respect that it generalizes and mutates as it takes hold.

My only hope is that those supplements were the only thing holding back the flood gates of depression. Because l know I haven’t paid the piper yet for my last hypomanic episode.

In other news, I thought I’d mentioned C.S.’s promotion we’ve been waiting on. We finally got word, and it wasn’t the one we were hoping for. The big wig at the top didn’t go for it. He’s upset about the staffing budget and put out a hiring freeze. But, C.S.’s department manager isn’t giving up on it.

We didn’t have any numbers before this. Today, I was texted a number than blew my mind. I wrote back, “Not even in my wildest dreams did I even consider that number!”. It’s $20,000 more than he’s making now. Yeah, my mouth dropped to the floor.

But now, it’s in limbo.

I bet it feels like winning a lottery, but then nobody has the money to pay up.

I Bet Jekyll Felt This Way

I’ve mentioned this in recent posts. But now, it’s gotten to a point where I’m not even sure what is going on anymore.

In case any readers aren’t up to date, I’ll summarize with some links. This all began with my last cutting episode. We determined that the mixed emotions I was going through was dysphoric hypomania. It lasted 16 days and I though it was over when I got sick. I thought I went from hypomanic to panic. But, I’m not sure that’s the case.

Yesterday, I was hit with panic earlier in the day. My mind started drifting and I got this urge to call off of work. I had this strong feeling like something was very wrong. However, since I’ve been in the throws of panic lately, I figured it was anxiety. That was that.

I started feeling very bad at work. I’ve been feeling ill – unsettled stomach, puffiness, etc. At work, it was magnified. I became nauseated with a throbbing head and a terrible stomach.

I wasn’t right in my head to handle kids today. I let them pretty much do what they pleased, within certain boundaries. I snapped out at my 3rd grade class because their behavior was atrocious. More than anything it was agitating because of the extreme annoyance. Children don’t typically annoy me. This was a clear sign that there was something very wrong.

Later, one of my co-workers pointed out a mistake I had made. I took it very personally. I became inexplicably angry that he would dare correct me although I knew I had made the mistake. I wanted to jump down his throat and tear him a new one.

But, I feared that he would put me up on the chopping block. I became paranoid, thinking he was the unidentified source who reported concerns to my boss about my performance. He had it out for me. He secretly didn’t like me and wanted me eliminated.

At that point, I had the mother of all panic attacks. I sat still, far in a corner of the room. I was trying to plan an escape route without anyone becoming suspicious. I had to get out. I couldn’t get it out of my head. But, if I left early, then someone would be upset. I’d be giving them even more reason to send me away.

I couldn’t wait to get home. Home, the only safe place left. And yet, just three months ago, I would’ve said that about work.

Here’s the question. Am I hostile at work because I’m feeling threatened because I’ve been having panic attacks at work that are making me delusional? Or, am I actually still in a now dysphoric mania with serious paranoia and delusions?

A Peach and A Catalyst

This one was inspired by Colonial Punk’s Post.

Stress.

A one syllable word that is so commonplace in everyone’s life. When am I not stressed? I can’t answer that. It really is always something.

It’s more about how stressors are processed that produces the effects and thus, the consequences. I’m probably not a prime example of how stress is interpreted. I have been known to buckle under the weight. I am guilty of allowing my situations to become critical.

How stress manifests for me is a complicated thing. It depends on the particular stressor and the source that it is coming from. In addition, it depends on my particular mood, the emotion, and the intensity of emotion that the stressor produces at the time.
I’ve been running a little high lately. I’m out of the hypomanic episode, thanks to a virus or something. But, if I had to describe the state I’m in right now, I’d call it a 6 or 7 on the mood scale with panic attacks. (In all fairness, this started before the abnormally high stress). Honestly, I’m used to running at about a 4.

I mentioned in Just Got Served, But It Wasn’t Dinner that C.S. is being sued. That was Thursday. That comes with a whole host of problems for both him and me. We finally have the name of an attorney. Any further than that and I’m really not at liberty to publicly detail the rest. Legal problems are at least in the top 5 of my “Worst Things That Could Happen List”. (Medical is number 1. We’re getting there.)

My typically benevolent boss is coming down on me. I understand her concern. My boss has a difficult time delegating and the Winter Concert is in my hands. Her anxiety has to be off the charts. It would be absolutely embarrassing if this project flops.

The electric company has recently determined that we are financially ineligible for services. Now, we’re stuck with a budget amount of $430 a month. That’s up $200 from what we were paying on a “just making ends meet” budget.

T.D.’s Early Intervention services ended October 16th, when he turned three. This is complicated, so try to stay with me. He was supposed to have transitioned into school-aged services at this point, but it didn’t happen.

Adding fuel to the fire, C.S. isn’t sure if he wants to take this promotion on the cusp of some serious financial detriment and before the holidays.

I mentioned problems with T.D.’s pediatrician giving me some serious trouble in The Farris Wheel. I won’t go into the complete story, but I have a ton of things I have to face now with his health and development.

And I have this surgery looming.  My consult is finally scheduled in stone for October 28.  We’ll just have to wait and see.

Blah.

The reactions varied. When I saw the papers for the suit, I sprang into action. It was an insult. I was angry.

When my boss came at me, I flew. It shook the very foundation of my work experience. I’ve always considered work to be a safe zone. I became so anxious that I responded with annoyance, fear, and paranoia.

All of T.D.’s things are overwhelming. I’m treading into unknown territory and I’m not sure how to proceed. It froze me in fear to know that my child has something wrong. And I felt like the worst mother in the world.

I’ve never had a major surgery. There are a lot of unknowns. I’ve been dodging it because I don’t want to walk around blindly. Too many what if’s. How am I going to handle news that something bad has happened?

And as for the bills, what am I going to do? We can handle it, but we’re going to be on a tight budget. We might have to make some heavy sacrifices. I am upset. I can’t stand the idea of living in extreme poverty again. I am almost to the point of tantrums. I still need a couple new staple clothing items (white t-shirts), new contacts, and new glasses. When will these needs be satisfied, if at all? Rawr!

So, as you can see, stress produces a wide variety of responses. But, the end result varies. Either, I crumble into a depressive episode because of the feeling of helplessness and hopelessness. Or, I go manic and power through with serious ferocity. Or, I am frozen with anxiety, and if I approach the situation, I’m overcome and retreat.

Spin the wheel. It’s hard to tell what stress will trigger with bipolar disorder.

Take two, three or four pills and call back in the morning.

From Hypomanic to Panic

I mentioned in other posts, namely The Hypomanic Toll Booth that I was going through a serious episode. To make a note, it was the most intense and longest hypomanic episode since I started treatment. I made it something like 16 or 17 days. This is coming from someone who has maxed out at 14. I can thank some virus for knocking me down around Tuesday or Wednesday.

Now, I am still running on high. I do have symptoms like rambling speech and hyper-speed thoughts. No sleep problems and no desire to be social. In fact, I have the complete opposite.

For the last week, I have been suffering from full on panic attacks. I’d be in the middle of something and come to a screeching halt, like the deer in the headlights. At first, it was very irregular. I was stricken at 5:30PM during a Kindergarten class. Another day, it was in the shower, first thing in the morning. Then, it settled into what I thought was about 12:30PM-1:30PM.

Today, I first got hit at T.D.’s pediatrician appointment at 9AM – but, there was a specific reason for that. (More to come on that). Ok, I rode that out, until I was out of the office. I got hit again at 11AM. I figured out why later – I woke up an hour and a half before I usually get up.

Instead of instantly medicating, I attempted the navigate the choppy waves with mantras and breathing. No dice. With panic, those techniques are only effective in the moment. They won’t prevent another attack. Panic comes when panic wants, ready or not.

I finally broke down at 1PM because the panic was quickly seizing my ability to function. I took a half a milligram of Xanax like I usually do. I suppose I waited too long. A half a milligram didn’t do it. I had to take the other half at 1:30PM. Even a milligram wasn’t enough to keep the anxiety completely at bay. But, at least the panic attacks stopped.

I was thinking about it the other day. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced anxiety outside of a depressive episode. Nor have I ever, ever, ever experienced panic without provocation, such as being faced with a phobia.

So, here comes the questions. Note, I did not have a depressive crash after the last hypomanic episode. I’m not being plagued with constant underlying anxiety. I’m having seemingly random panic attacks.

Is running on high causing the panic? Or, is the panic actually a result anxiety that makes me appear on the edge of hypomania? Or am I still hypomanic except on the lower side and I’m experiencing panic as a result? Or is the panic a separate entity all its own?

So many questions. So few answers.