Panic climbs, climbs, it surrounds me, it envelopes me. I know this is a panic attack. I know that. I understand that. Somewhere in my brain I know that my wires are crossed; that's why my heart's pounding. My fight or flight response is confused--my body's telling me i'm in danger, making my heart beat way too fast and my body tremble and shake. I've done all the research, I know that my anxiety greatly contributes to my insomnia, and i know that lack of sleep can greatly contribute to anxiety. Great. Fantastic. The circle of hell.
I wish I could just say Bool! Everything is a joke. Everything's fine. I'm not freaking out about a writer's conference, because i don't have a dream as ridiculous as that. I don't have all these doctors appointments because i'm in great shape, and my elbow has never given me a lick of trouble. Right now, this moment, as i breathe way too fast and watch my hands shake as they fly across the keys, i'm not having a panic attack. God, I wish that were true.
Usually I can talk my way out of a panic attack, but seeing as it's almost two in the morning, that option's out. I know Rachel works today, and there's no way i'm calling her at two am for her to listen to me bitch and whine about how i can't breathe. I can't breathe though...no wait. I can. I'm breathing too much, actually. I'm hyperventilating. I've researched that too. Hyperventilation. The brain is getting too much oxygen, but your heart doesn't get enough of it. Your body is telling you you're suffocating and your brain tells you you're drowning.
It's getting a little better now. Apparently typing it out has almost the same effect as talking it about. It's two am and I'm supposed to meet my mom for breakfast at seven fifteen. I'm not sleeping tonight, looks like.
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