In which my weekend was one part really good… and one part REALLY bad.

Friday was nasty. Whoo boy. Out of the blue I had a panic attack for the first time in a really long time and it sucked. And all because my heart decided to go arrhythmic. I sat at my desk in my own private hell and waited for the day to end so I could go home and curl up in my room in my misery.

The Dread continued on Saturday. I walked the dog and did laundry and cleaned the front bathroom, but was in and out of anxiety all day long. There were a few bouts of scary arrhythmia that pushed me from anxiety into full-blown panic.

Saturday night, I had a gig to go to. In spite of feeling like shit I took a shower and got dressed and went because I’m tough like that. Somewhere between the second and third sets I had a moment of pure terror, certain that this was it, it was finally happening, I was having a heart attack… but I didn’t pass out. I didn’t even fall over, actually. So I reminded myself yet again that the problem was actually my panic disorder and not some kind of actual physical malady and soldiered on out the door, which was where I’d been heading when my skin lit on fire for a second.

Out back, a drunk woman gave me a rock with a bubble eye glued to it. She called it a “validation rock.” (Eye rock = “I rock.”) It’s a little creepy, but at the same time it was really sweet of her too. Plus drunk people are adorable. (I haven’t been drinking, myself, because I’m tired of being FAT.)

I sang my ass off during the third set. (Gigging, even though it’s the last thing I want to do during a panic attack, is the best thing to do during a panic attack.) All the dancing and singing helped me break through, and after the set I felt better even though my heart was still skipping beats.

Oh, and I sounded freakin’ great. The voice did absolutely everything I wanted it to do. I love nights like that.

When the gig was over, I wandered over to Vintage with a few people who were walking that direction. I could hear a DJ, and I’d decided not too long ago that I will add more dancing to my schedule (since it’s one of the only forms of exercise that I like).

A couple celebrating their anniversary bought me a beer. (Yes, a beer. I don’t drink beer. Seriously. I have maybe one a year, if that many.) I sat at a table in the corner by myself and drank it slowly, then I took off my shoes and danced my ass off for about an hour.

When I was done: I was sweaty because it was still nearly ninety degrees out at one in the morning; I had a strong, steady heartbeat; I had not passed out nor had a heart attack and I’d clearly passed a heart stress test; and I felt mellow and relaxed from the beer and the exercise.

Since I wasn’t dead, I went home and went to bed.

Sunday the A/C in the house broke, but I survived with the aid of a lot of water and a big old box fan. I watched three movies on Netflix, smoked only 5 cigarettes all day long, had no caffeine… and drifted in and out of panic. By evening, I was pretty much an exhausted wreck, on the verge of tears that wouldn’t come, and had decided to call a cardiologist the next day. (There’s one two blocks from my house, believe it or not.)

I woke up feeling great yesterday morning, walked the dog. Called the cardiologist… aaaaaaaaaaaaand he’s closed until Wednesday. Heh. He would be, wouldn’t he.

Long story short, by Monday night I had the panic more or less beat. I had convinced myself that missing beats is ‘just a little electrical problem’ and that my heart appears to be doing its job: I have blood flow to all of my extremities, my skin tone is fine all over, and I don’t black out when I stand up. The panic is a separate, unnecessary component that IS NOT HELPING. I did yoga, meditated, listened to this visualization technique I still have on my iPod from back when I needed it all the time…

Having been free of anxiety and panic of this magnitude for a couple of years, I’m here to tell you: DO NOT WANT. It sucks to walk around in a physiology that is so horribly uncomfortable! If you know anyone with anxiety or panic, have compassion for the poor bastard. I’m sincere. There are moments of such utter horror where you are certain that you’re in the process of dying RIGHT NOW and although there’s no actual pain, it still feels awful. Your muscles hurt from being so tense, and you’re dizzy and sweaty and just hopelessly frightened and disassociated. It’s exhausting and relentless and unnatural.

And what’s worse is that once you’ve trained yourself to react that way, there’s always the danger that you’ll do it again. I thought I’d beaten panic because I hadn’t had a full-blown attack for so long, but it turns out that if my body does something weird enough, especially when I’m stuck in a chair and can’t get distracted in time, that I will immediately descend into the bowels of adrenal hell.

I used to have attacks like that all the time. I can’t believe, now, that I was so stubborn and weird that I never went for help; I told my GP I had a panic disorder (once I’d finally admitted to myself that I had one) and all he did was offer me drugs (which I refused, because I’M A DINGBAT). My midwife told me most of my symptoms were consistent with perimenopause, too, which somehow confused the matter even further in my head. One, I wasn’t crazy, and two, even if I was, it was all hormones anyway, right?

My plan of attack is thus: I’m going to get the thudding thing addressed. If it’s harmless and it costs upwards of $800-$1500 to prove it, then so be it. (My insurance won’t kick in for another 2 months.) If it’s not harmless, I should probably be addressing it ASAP anyway. (If I can’t drink or smoke ever again, though, I’m gonna be PISSED.) (Just sayin’.) When the insurance kicks in, I’m gonna get a script for something to take when/if I decide to go fucking miserably batshit again at any point, because four days of this? Is just ridiculous.

In other news, if being a pudgy whack job wasn’t bad enough on its own, I have a small blemish on the delicate skin of my right eyelid that has caused – all by itself, I have not touched it at all, SWEAR TO GOD – my entire eyelid to puff up! So it looks like I’ve been smacked around a little, or maybe I’m turning mongoloid. I just wanted to say, Awesome, Universe, thanks! Don’t ever let it be said that you’re too aloof to kick a girl when she’s down!