I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it..
I’ve had fits of anxiety and panic twice this week. I’m very irritated at them because for one thing, I can’t seem to pinpoint why I had them. And for another thing, I’m on enough drugs to sink the navy. I’m not supposed to have panic attacks any more.
At any rate, two of them in one week, and my word, feeling like your head is going to explode and that you’re going to suffocate in broad daylight for hours on end is exhausting. But no, I mean, like, its more than exhausting.
I suppose if I was to describe the way I feel after a good, long anxiety attack, it would be something like a deflated balloon. One that spent all day out in the sun at a carnival, in the hands of a hyperactive toddler. Only, half way through the day, it got deflated and left the hands of the toddler, to be picked up and dropped repeatedly by small birds. But the thing is, the last time it got dropped by a bird, it landed on the free way and spent a good three hours being smashed into the pavement by transports.
Yeah. That’s it. I think I’ve got down how it feels to have survived a panic attack. You’d think the feeling would be more virtuous, victorious… but no. I felt like someone in need of intensive care and a six week order for bedrest.
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