I’m prone to panic attacks. As someone with PTSD that’s par for the course, it’s not unusual, not unique. That doesn’t make it easier. Panic attacks are debilitating, not just from the panic, but from the realisation that there is nobody I can talk to about this. Panic attacks make you realise how alone you are in the world.
I sometimes post a little bit about this on Facebook and usually get a response, but it only glosses over the surface. Panic attacks are isolating. You fully understand, even in the middle of one, how alone you are, how there is nobody you can talk to about this, because only someone who also suffers from them can understand.
Can you imagine, your heart is beating triple time, there is a wire inside your solar plexus that is winding ever tighter and tighter, pulling you into the foetal position; you can’t stop the tears, you can’t stop the despair, and there is not one soul who can understand what that’s like.
You’re on your own, every time. Get through it, emerge on the other side, or sink, drown, end everything. That’s the scary part, how tempting it is to end it all, because in this mindset there is no future, not one that seems viable anyway.
You are lost, helpless, useless, pointless. Existence is pointless.
And yet, somehow, I get through every one of these. I’m still here, still trying, still functioning, maybe giving something back by telling my truth.
My cats help me; they know when things are bad and they come and lie with me, purring and sharing body warmth, giving me unconditional love.
There must be a strong spark of self preservation - or maybe it’s cowardice - that keeps me going on, giving it one more day. That’s all you can do, all I can do, give it one more day. Those days add up until they become a year, two years, three, five, six, seven. It doesn’t get easier but it gets doable. And who knows, maybe one day it will be worth it.
All I can say is keep trying. I don’t know if there is contentment or happiness at the end of this road, I haven’t got there yet. All I know and all I try to remember is - if you don’t keep going and give it your best shot you’ll never know what might have happened. My grandmother told me often; whatever you do, do it as well as you can. I’m living, I got through the worst time in my life, and I’m trying, every day, to live as well as I can. We all have to.
