Get up offa that thing

At some point I’ll start talking about getting out of the hole (beats a dead horse), but not yet.

First I’m going to take a moment to feel like crap.

On Sunday we went to see Maleficent (friggin A was it good). When we parked the car outside the theater I felt the rumblings of a panic attack. Ever have one of those? They suck.

One minute I’m completely fine and the next it’s like an earthquake goes off in my head. Everything starts shaking, I get super dizzy and nauseous, and then – if it’s exceptionally bad – feel like my airways are closing. That’s fun. They show up out of nowhere and dismantle me for days at a time. I guess in some ways it really is like the aftermath of an earthquake, only inside the body.

The one on Sunday came after eating lunch at a place I’ve eaten at before and then shopping at a place I’ve shopped before. Nothing foreign, new or – you’d think – scary, but it landed me in bed, shaking, by ten o’clock.

The one yesterday came after visiting the Farmer’s Market in Santa Monica where I had a great time. On the way back I noticed I felt a little woozy and tried to shake it off, but by the time I got home was ripping off my jewelry (absolutely cannot be constricted when these things hit) and crawling under the covers. Honestly, it ruined the day. Not because I let it, but because it just did.

I used to be someone who could do a lot of things at once. Multi-tasking was my game and I was an A-player. Now I sometimes get overwhelmed trying to juggle only two or three things. It’s frustrating and sad and makes me wish for when I was sharper and, I don’t know, more capable.

Even though I’ve come a long way since getting sick last year, it’s days like the past few that remind me I’m not the same person.

I don’t like it. I don’t like feeling weak. I don’t like being at the whim of something I can’t control. In fact, I hate it. It makes me not even recognize myself. It scares me.

I wish someone would have warned me about the post-stroke anxiety attacks. I wish I hadn’t learned about them for the first time sitting on the floor at Whole Foods. I wish they’d go away. I wish I felt stronger, like my old self.

A couple days ago Anne Lamott said on twitter: Want to have a great life? Get some writing done most days. You want to have a shitty life? Weasel out of doing some writing most days.

So here goes. I feel terrible. I hope writing it down helps me start to feel better because I’m getting bed sores.