I can hear the ocean.
But wait that’s not right.
I’m in Belfast, on a couch, miles from the coast yet the sound of the waves crashing on the shore between my ears is starting to drive me slowly yet surely mad as logically I know that I SHOULD NOT be hearing the ocean.
My throat is closing up and my heart is off to the races and suddenly there’s a tremor making its way from the fingertips on my right hand straight through to my right knee and I can feel my already tentative grasp of control over my mind (and sanity) slowly slipping away.
Retreat, retreat before anyone notices.
Count yourself down and take a deep breath.
Hold in 2-3-4, release 6-7-8.
In 2-3-4, out 6-7-8.
(And I’ve just realized that I’m speaking of myself TO myself)
My mind is flitting from topic to topic and the inner voices (the right cunts) are doing their damnedest to break me and the bloody tears are welling up now and I don’t want to cry, I CAN’T cry, not here not now when I’m stuck in this dingy hostel full of people with the collective emotional range of a teaspoon and I just want to be home in my bed with a cup of tea and a good book to read and maybe a cozy pair of socks to keep my toes (that are slowly becoming icicles) warm and maybe, just MAYBE someone to hold me and stroke my hair reassuringly because while I know deep down that this moment in time, this blip, will pass there’s something comforting about hearing those words come from anothers mouth and maybe if I just keep typing every thought to pop into my head I can slowly yet surely type myself down from this metaphorical cliff my anxiety has walked me up to?
It’s working the tiniest bit yet I can still feel the cold sweat beading at my forehead.
It won’t always be like this, in fact it ISN’T always like this but right now as my heart thumps a furious beat and my hand trembles for all it’s worth and my chest feels as though it’s collapsing in on itself I can’t help but be full of thoughts of the doom and gloom variety and my god it actually feels as though I may be dying. I can’t breathe, can’t catch my breath and dear lord it feels absolutely miserable and how is it even possible to be simultaneously freezing cold yet soaked in sweat and for the love of GOD I can’t settle on a comfortable position in which to wrap my arms around myself. And you know what, I’m angry. I’m angry that my arms aren’t long enough to wrap fully around my body in a self-embrace. I’m angry that I still have anxiety attacks. I’m angry that there isn’t an outright cure, a magical ANYTHING, a wave of a wand, a potion, a spell, ANYTHING that would banish this feeling for it to never return. I’m angry that I feel the need to hide this part of me away, that the world won’t get its act together and start EDUCATING themselves on mental illness so that I can stop feeling the need to hide my moments of complete and utter weirdness from all those around me. I’m angry that even in a moment of sheer PANIC I can’t help but be self-deprecating. I’m angry that I don’t have a book to read. I’m angry that the effing voices in the back of my head urge me to isolate myself, leaving me alone in moments of real need.
I’m angry that this is the way my mind works.
I’m angry that regardless of how much I meditate or eat healthy or exercise, these black hole moments continue to occur on occasion and likely always will.
I’m angry that the sound of the waves crashing on the shore is in fact a figment of my imagination.
I’m angry that the ocean is so far away.
In 2-3-4, out 6-7-8.
It’s fading, the panic is fading.
Another shaky breath in 2-3-4 and out 6-7-8.
You will be ok.