Jul 22, 2003 12:47
So! It's been a really kee-razy week, so I'd best post all the fun-filled madness that's been going on around here, so all of you can know just how kee-razy it's been! Of course, all of you reading were probably there with me, calming me down and saying "you're not going to die...you're not going to die..." but my new therapist tells me it's cathartic to write, anyway.
Where to begin? Hmmm...let's start on a week ago, Saturday, when I did a bunch of drugs that were like some other drugs that I can well handle, but only in appearance and chemical structure, because shit. Couldn't handle. I should probably mention that my days of drug experimentation came to an end awhile back, and now I stick more to the weed-and-prescription-pills combination, and mostly on the weekends. So Saturday night is a confused wash of me losing my shit entirely on shit that was way more than I was expecting, wherein my face couldn't stop contorting itself and I couldn't stop licking my lips, moaning, or blinking. Crazy!
Sunday was entirely spent on a horrible comedown from Saturday, wherein I took a large dose of sedatives to try to get some sleep and found myself incapacitated but totally unable to sleep; instead, I spent the day shaking and crying on Nica's couch, wondering if I should check into an emergency room because my heart was going to stop. She attempted to talk to me about something going on with her, but I would thoughtfully interrupt and say "that's freaking me out. Please stop talking." Checked my pulse compulsively, kept calling Universal Donor to ask him if he was SURE I wasn't going to die.
Monday, I had a job interview; in the morning, I had coffee to counteract that large amounts of sedatives I'd taken to finally sleep the night before, and that coffee seemed to bring me right back up to Warp-Speed, because I spent the interview chattering on like Spud in Trainspotting. Went back to work and almost out-chatted the chatty stupid girl who works next to me. Checked my pulse compulsively. Took more sedatives that night, realizing I no longer had enough for plane ride home next week.
Tuesday. Drank coffee in morning to counteract Monday night's sedatives. Got on subway. Started feeling tense. Started feeling tenser. Explosions, felt like I was trapped in nightmarish wind sweeping over me, like Linda Hamilton in her nuclear-war fantasy scene in T2. Fled train at 3rd Avenue. Sat down on sidewalk, checked pulse, felt it racing away from me; stumbled up through strobing lights and bought myself gatorade. Tried to come to grips, absolutely terrified. Felt heart exploding in chest. Started planning strategy to somehow get to emergency room. Cursed drugs. Moaned, twitched face, lashed tongue. Called Anthrochica, made emergency plea for rescue. Somehow randomly stumbled to Stuyvesant Park, and hazily realized where I was, asked Anthrochica to meet me there. Called drug hotline to make sure I wasn't dying. Turned out to be police tip network for reporting drug labs. Freaked, hung up. Called work, told them I wouldn't be in-- "I HAVE TO GO TO A HOSPITAL RIGHT NOW!!!!" Paced, realized pacing was elevating heart rate, kept checking pulse, paced slower. Sat. Hated sitting. Stood. Hated standing. Called friends to hear voices. Friends voices became scary. Hung up on friends. Called Universal Donor to say I was sure, this time, that I was dying. Heard word "Panic Attack" applied for first time. Thought "Panic Attack". Was told to focus on breathing. Focused on breathing, pulse. Breathing, pulse became scary. Smoked and smoked and smoked and smoked and smoked. Glorious sight- Anthrochica drifting over into the park.
Started getting shit back together. Whimpered "we go home, please", took cab back to Anthrochica's, put on curative 4th-Season Buffy episodes.
Felt better. Happily joked. Made references to every episode of Buffy ever. Made references to never doing drugs again. Made references to feeling way better than earlier, feeling bad about taking off work. Called work, assured them panic attack was only that, informed them would be returning to work presently.
Sat and watched Buffy. Started getting tense. Same horrific wind suddenly took over again and everything awful, awful, awful.... got handed a sedative by Anthrochica. Took sedative, but still awful, demanded more... Awful, awful, awful, can't sit, stand, pace...checked pulse...decided on calling parents. Made up story about "drinking too much coffee". Concerned father suggests finding internist, prescribes beta blockers to prevent adrenaline kicking in. Cling to idea like Linda Hamilton clinging to fence in T2. Beta...Blockers...will...protect...from...nuclear...holocaust... Sedative kicks in, everything ok again, except for all-encompassing fear of next terrifying wind, slightly dulled by sedative. Erstwile boyfriend calls- has just returned from weekend away. Situation (half) explained to erstwile boyfriend.
Drink some beer, kill the pain. Pick up Beta Blockers at Wallgreens. Explain to erstwile boyfriend why I would rather not attend the "Queer Eye For the Straight Guy" viewing party planned at his place. Decide I can make it, anyway. Go over. Freak out, go outside; boyfriend and other friend accompany me outside, but proceed to have a conversation over my head. Start suggesting "Can you not ignore me?!?" and the two give each other perturbed looks. Get pissed, go upstairs, call sympathetic father. Told to stop taking sedatives for fear of getting addicted. Beta Blockers: Wave of Future. Possible Paxel in future, as well.
Come down from attack. Pass out.
Wednesday:
Go to work. No coffee. No coffee? Jesus Christ, no coffee. No coffee.... no sedatives either, but can probably keep shit together...after all, I have beta blockers... no coffee...start twitching... no coffee...can't have coffee...usually drink 8-10 cups a day, but not today! No longer.... dear jesus. Nobody in office to keep company! Not even stupid, chatty, annoying faux-punk girl! Stuck alone in corner! Get really, really bored, restless. Have panic attack. Call Anthrochica, parents, boyfriend for reassurance that everything will be ok, contemplate checking self into Bellevue where can be strapped down and intravenously administered beautiful, beautiful life-affirming Thorezeine. Calm down from panic attack. Go on lunch break. Have another attack. Call Anthrochica, take forbidden sedative, call parents, deny taking sedative, call boyfriend, deny taking sedative, call Anthrochica again, admit taking sedative, calm down, calm down, back at work. Mood improvement! Can do this! Mood devolving. Day wears on. Endless. No coffee... no coffee... sedative starts wearing off... panic attack. Call Anthrochica, call parents, call boyfriend, call Universal Donor, call parents, call Anthrochica, call parents...Write frantic Live Journal entry... research non-addictive treatments, come up with "Kava Kava and Valerian". Actually consider said options, despite life-long aversion to non-Western medicine and any medication not previously tested on 5000 monkeys. Get on subway. Hold breath. No panic attack. Happy! Look through Park Slope for vitamin store. Why the fuck can't I find a vitamin store in Park Slope?! Hippies fucking everywhere! Park Slope! No GNC? Walk and walk and walk and start to panic. Under control. Find ex-roomate. Try to catch up. Say "I'm having panic attacks and I need Kava Kava and Valerian root and please tell me where I can find them", trying not to look too crazy. Given store location. Feel like scavenger hunt. Find place after correcting wrong address given by ex-roomate. Get drugs. Take drugs. Have panic attack. Have panic attack. Have panic attack. Get over panic attack, realize I was supposed to see someone to get something back, only it's complicated a bit because of what's-its-face and whozzit who are in a strange situation, and I don't know if I can deal with it right now but I should probably get out a bit. Take car service to Williamsburg, because terrified of subway. Meet up with certain somebody, get my what-not, chat a bit, have panic attack. Decide to go on sedatives after all, addictions be damned. Freak out after 15 minutes and flee the scene in another car service back to Park Slope, pass out.
Thursday: Take work off for the next two days, at father's suggestion, in order to get shit together. Frantically call all friends in therapy, get suggestions for psychiatrists. Come up dry on psychiatrists, but make appointment with one psychologist and one semi-sketchy psychotherapist who practices sinister-sounding "EMDR". Go to Anthrochica's place before first appointment, watch therapeutic 4th-season Buffy, have panic attack. Take sedative. Have panic attack. Have panic attack. Get over panic attack, get on subway to therapists, nearly pass out on subway. Realize haven't showered or shaved for awhile. Am disgusting. Have therapy session, first one since unfortunate childhood. Therapist is concerned and stern-looking middle-aged lady who does not approve of the earlier drugs, but is happy about the sedatives. Feel happy talking. Come out of therapy session, meet up with boyfriend, who is hanging out with his high school latin teacher. Worth mentioning that said ex-latin teacher (age: 35) is with her 1 year-old child, as well as the father of that child, the 19 year-old gay kid who only 2 and a half years ago was in her class, as well. Not good for nerves. Have dinner at weird place in Soho that only makes rice pudding. Go to sinister-sounding EMDR session, which is mostly used for post-traumatic stress syndrome and involves headphones beeping on either side of one's head, as well as visualization techniques that remind me of childhood attempts to put other children in a trance. Relive 'traumatic incident', but don't know really what to say.
PSYCHOTHERAPIST: And What are you doing now, at the highest stress peak?
ME: I'm taking the drugs.
PSYCHOTHERAPIST: And how do you feel about this? Do you want to be taking the drugs?
ME: Not in retrospect, no.
PSYCHOTHERAPIST: I don't mean in retrospect. Put yourself in the moment. Do you want to do this?
ME: Well, those drugs didn't just do themselves.
PSYCHOTHERAPIST: You're not really going with me.
Finish absurd session, am declared 'cured' by psychotherapist, who already has his money. Take more sedatives, go home, pass out.
Friday: Feeling better. Wake up, take sedative. Go to therapist from day-before for next-day follow-up session. Am not nearly so happy with her next day. Get into really frustrating conversation about parents.
THERAPIST: But did you REALLY feel approval from your father?
ME: Sure I did! Shut up about my parents!
THERAPIST: I think we need to figure out what the root of all this anxiety is.
ME: Do you think it might have been the drugs? Like, maybe my brain is just freaking out because of serotonin depletion, or maybe I'm having a psychotic reaction or something?
THERAPIST: Maybe. I'm not a doctor.
Take more sedatives. Get call from temp agency. Am told I've been let go from last job. Get really fucking pissed. Only took 3 days off! Sedative kicks in. Whatever, it's cool. Call Dad, ask for more sedatives. Achieve acquiescence. Get call from temp agency. New job for next week. Realize- no panic attack for 24 hours! This is a record. Job next week...job interview went ok despite acting like crazed lunatic...more sedatives on way... won't have to worry about breaking sedative addiction for awhile... things looking good...
That's pretty much end of story. At new job today. Only a week-long job, but whatever. Awaiting the day I can drink coffee again. Am basically feeling better. Can now go back to lording my own enhanced sanity over my crazier friends. Am stoked.