Anxiety Mystery: An Unknown Trigger

Well, it’s been an eventful week and weekend. I haven’t posted in a few days since I’ve been house and dog-sitting for my aunt while they were at a weekend getaway.

Before that, I jammed my finger. You can only imagine how bad my health anxiety became after that. A little word of advice: Never walk by your husband while he’s trying to show you his “sweet” karate kick. I know it was an accident, but I still made him pamper me for a little while, last week. I’m not gonna lie, I was milking the attention. I’ve grounded him from watching anime cartoons, though.

Friday night, we arrived at our temporary home. I love my aunt’s house. I wouldn’t live in a very large house, myself, but I definitely don’t mind staying in one for a couple of days. I thought it would be pretty relaxing, and it was for the most part. Some places just have that relaxing vibe to them.

My anxiety wasn’t too bothersome, that night, but I did get the feeling it was going to act up at some point over the weekend. My daughter wanted to stay with my grandmother, so I only had the baby and my three year old. We did have fun, watching movies and eating pizza until Dillon had to go to bed to get up for work the next day.

It started at 11pm, Friday. I knew it was going to rain, but I had no idea it would be an all-night hurricane session. It poured. I’m not usually as scared of bad weather (unless it’s really bad) anymore, but I was a little bit uneasy. My dear sister, Lindsy, lives one state over. I got a call from her at 1am because she was freaking out about possible tornadoes in her area. Gabe and I were already awake, since he wasn’t used to staying in another place. He’s also scared of thunder, which was probably half of it. I was trying to help her calm down while my own anxiety was beginning to claw at me. I still couldn’t put my finger on why I was feeling so anxious.

I didn’t feel like I was afraid of the storm itself, but I was afraid it was a storm that was the start of an apocalypse. I could hear the wind howling, outside. It’s not like Sissy’s (my aunt) house is unsafe, either. It’s way more sturdy than our house. Still, I have no idea why I was nervous.

When my son finally went to sleep, I tried to lie down. This was 2am. I was tired and the storm had winded down to only rain and a little bit of thunder. You know, sleeping weather. I thought I could sleep peacefully. Especially, since Sissy’s bed is probably the most comfortable place I have ever laid my head. It must have been too comfortable, though, because every time I closed my eyes, they would pop back open. That unease was keeping me awake. The all too familiar sense of impending doom stayed in my mind. I was finally able to fall asleep after watching “The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” for a couple of minutes.

Saturday morning, Dillon had gone to work. I woke up at 6am and he left thirty minutes later. Now, a few things happened that pretty much had me twitching. First, I had started my cycle. It wouldn’t have been a problem, but I didn’t have any lady products because I wasn’t prepared for it. So, for the sake of being gross, I had to use toilet paper. Another thing, I couldn’t get Sissy’s coffee maker to stop spitting out grounds in my coffee. Ah, the joys of coffee makers that use pods. The final thing? I couldn’t find my phone. Dillon and I have the same phone, so I thought he may have slipped it in his pocket by accident.

We only had Dillon’s car, and he took it to work, so I didn’t have a way to the store. I didn’t have a phone to call anyone, either. Even through this, I didn’t think it was enough for me to be nervous about, surprisingly. I still kept my cool. Thankfully, Sissy had stopped by to pick up their bathing suits around 10am. The cabins they were staying in are right across town, so it wasn’t far. I asked to use her phone, before she left, to call Dillon. It turns out, my phone was beside the bed, because he was going to charge it for me, but forgot to plug it up. Thanks, Dillon.

One problem solved.

I also managed to finally make a cup of coffee. Boy, did I sip it like there was no tomorrow. Another solved. If you want to know what I was doing until Sissy got there, I was walking around, aimlessly. I’d watch TV for a bit, load the dishwasher, and talk to the dog while the kids were still asleep. Unfortunately, the dog didn’t find me interesting, as she got up from the living room and moved her nap to the bedroom. Animals love me.

Alas, I still had to use toilet paper. I called my grandmother to see if she was going to the store, by any chance. Nope, her car had a flat. Great. I still wasn’t that anxious, but I could feel it building.

Finally, I gave up and started binge watching “My Little Pony” because I’m an adult and I do adult things.

Dillon got off a little earlier Saturday afternoon. He arrived at 2:30pm in his swimming shorts and his work boots on. Stylish, amirite? Sissy has a large pool, and he promised to take Gabe swimming. He let my grandmother take his car to the store, and I didn’t know this, so I was a little upset. I needed things and he didn’t think to ask me what I needed. He also didn’t tell me he had went home, first, to grab his shorts. I thought he was still working.

I feel a little bad, because I guess he did tell her I needed some underwear protection. She brought me some of those, and some cigarettes. He started swimming, and I was sitting in the living room, thinking. That is a dangerous thing for me to do, because I became angry, almost instantly. It felt like all my pent up anxiety had burst out into awful mood swings. I cried, I wanted to punch something, I wanted to cry for help, and I was panicking.

When Dillon was finished, he and Gabe came back inside. this was around 5pm. I didn’t want to do it, but the words flowed from my mouth. I had started raising my voice and began the argument. He tried to be patient, saying, “Let’s just have a good day, okay?” I kept provoking, though. I had tears in my eyes as I was spewing complaints. He ended up raising his voice, too, scolding me for starting a fight.

I guess that did it, because every emotion but joy hit me, all at once. I was raging, crying and wanting to just go back home and leave him there. Every mistake he made raced around my head. Every mistake I made, joined them, creating more guilt. The panic attack had begun, but this one would last at least an hour. Every time he would try to comfort me, I would push him away with an insult, which only made me feel even more guilty. I would cry harder, because I wanted him to keep holding me, but my mouth just wouldn’t shut up. It was like I wasn’t in control of my own body. I would watch from afar as I tore into my marriage, unable to stop myself. I even went as far as accusing him of jamming my finger on purpose.

I finally managed to take control, if only by a hair. I spat out, “I’m going to take a shower. Feed the baby while I’m in there.” Every time I would walk into the bathroom, I would come out to find him dozing off. Of course, our infant was napping, beside him, but it just made me angrier because he should have been keeping an eye on him and Gabe. I had had enough, so I threw a full water bottle at him. He sat up, quickly, and stared. I told him one final time, that I was getting in the shower.

Once in there, I cried. I cried so loudly, I couldn’t believe Dillon didn’t hear me. I hadn’t squalled that much in a while. I couldn’t even wash my hair, because I had so much to let out. Anger, sadness, depression, guilt, self-doubt, and so much more. I wanted him to hear me, though. There was that part of me that wanted him to come running in to grab me and hug me. However, there was that other part that was going to scream at him to get away. My emotions were tearing me to shreds, once more. I wanted, so badly, to just be happy. This invisible force was driving me crazy. I had no control. In fact, I stayed in the shower until I was sure I could control my mouth.

When I emerged, he did what I wanted him to do. He did grab me and held me, apologizing. For what, I didn’t know, because it was entirely my fault. I still tried to fight it, too. I pushed him away and told him to just leave me alone. He went to shower, next, without saying a word. I guess he just had to walk away, because he knows how I am and he didn’t want the rest of the day to be ruined.

While he was in there, I had time to cool off and tend to the kids. I hated for my son to see me cry, because he would ask me if Daddy made me cry. I always tell him, “No, baby. Daddy didn’t make me cry. I’m sick and I don’t feel good.” He made sure he was content with that answer before running along to watch cartoons in his cousin’s bedroom.

When Dillon got out, he sat with me and told me everything would be fine. I tried to explain the best I could. It felt like, for the hundredth time, I was telling him about my anxiety. We talked for a while, and it felt like things would be okay. I was still sore and exhausted from the lack of sleep the night before and from the long-lasting anxiety attack, earlier. He put on more “My Little Pony” and told me to relax. My anger had subsided, but I was still feeling low. What I had started was prodding at my guilt.

After we talked some more, shared our theories on a cartoon for little girls, and got the baby to sleep, we decided to hit the hay.

We laid down at about 11pm. It was worse, that night. I would close my eyes and just lose my breath. Like I would stop breathing. I didn’t think I was panicking, though. I thought I was fine. As I lay there, I felt waves of numbness through my arms and legs. I knew it was another attack, but I did everything I could to control it. I had to sit up and take deep breaths for a few minutes, before I attempted to go back to sleep. It felt like I had to force my lungs to take in air.

The next morning, I was exhausted. I woke up early, again. Dillon didn’t have to work, so I was thankful he was there with me. Sissy made it back, and we gathered our things and came back home.

I’m still recovering from Saturday. My chest has been hurting, I can hardly breathe, and I’ve been hurting everywhere. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck, but I know it’s only anxiety.

I don’t know what made me blow up like that. I lost control of myself. Something triggered me, but it’s a mystery. I don’t know if it was being away from home, my cycle, random mood swings, the weather, the smaller events from Saturday morning, or something Dillon did or didn’t do. I have an appointment this Friday. I hope I can take back control of my life.

That other person was not me.

It’s good to be home, though.

Love you!
-Courtney

Advertisements

3 Comments

    1. Thank you for reading! It is something I, unfortunately, have lived with for quite a while. I actually think blogging has helped, a lot. It is definitely overwhelming at times, though. I would like to read yours! Drop your link, if you want!

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s