I’m having a panic attack. It started about 20 minutes ago with a shortness of breath accompanied by the sensation that only the tops of my lungs were functioning. And then I felt my brain hardening … not quite brick-like, but definitely a soft cement. And then just a few minutes ago my arms tightened and my wrists’ nerve endings started exuding pain. Now, I can feel my heart racing.
I’ve taken as much in meds as I would find allowable.
I’ve got to think, feel, write, and perhaps meditate myself out of this.
I’m frustrated. Over the past several weeks, while I’ve encountered stress and slight Anxiety, I’ve been able to see myself to the other side. The capable me.
I haven’t had a panic attack in quite sometime. I’ve felt a sense of pride in that.
As I’ve noted before, writing about this experience helps me out. I usually get to the other side, because in writing about my experience as it’s happening, requires me to be in the moment and acknowledge the my demon named Anxiety and then just let It sit and disappear.
This writing experience is helping too. I’m not all hunky dory. I still feel heavy … soft cement-like. But I can breathe full breaths. More of my brain feels engaged with the world. And my wrists, while weighted, are not in pain.
I do a few isometric exercises to fatigue my muscles some.
The day goes on.