I'm not sure why. It happened out of the blue. I got a little worried a few nights ago, and then all of a sudden, bam! - I was in the midst of a panic attack. Oh-my-gosh-I-can't-do-this-I-can't-I-can't-I-can't!
What troubled me was that this hasn't happened since I've been on the medication. Maybe the meds helped because I felt fine five minutes before, and five minutes after, whereas I usually spend the better part of twelve hours calming down and fighting despair. But a panic attack was disconcerting all the same.
Then the next night came, and I decided to try the thing that was making me anxious again. Basically, the thing basically involves facing my ultra-harried life right now. (Hence blogging, because why face my thesis, a short story competition, grad school choices, or an upcoming summer project that all have crunch times next month?)
I wound up totally getting it all done, faced my fears, learned an encouraging lesson, and I'm so great and over this anxiety now! Yeah, no.
Truth is, I wound up hysterically sobbing and screaming on my apartment couch (thankfully, it's spring break and my neighbors are gone) and my nose was so stuffed I couldn't breathe and I woke up the next day with burning eyes and it was horrible. And all I could think was, this isn't supposed to be happening. I've been fine since the medication. I'm supposed to be getting better, and I cannot survive another round of anxiety-fueled depression.
I guess I've found out firsthand what my therapist told me, that medication helps but the cause has to be dealt with or the anxiety/depression will return.
Soooo...I suppose I'm anxious because I don't think I can do it all. I think I'll fail, and I think maybe, I don't believe in everything I want to believe in. That maybe I have too many doubts and questions, and maybe my story is cliche, and maybe I won't finish characterizing all these darn compounds, and maybe I'm not going to like my graduate school decision. I'm scared, I'm scared, I'm scared.
Maybe that's a prayer, maybe that's an invitation, maybe that's buried by the wind, but no, I don't believe that last part. Something inside of me clenches and shakes its head at futility.
Sometimes, that's all I can hold on to. The falseness at ultimate futility. But momentary futility? It happens far too often.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt once said, "When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on."
Well, to be honest, I don't know if I can hang on, Mr. FDR.
But I think there might be people, and Someone up there, hanging onto me.