I had a panic attack on Saturday night. At Walmart. In the parking lot. It was wonderful. Please note the sarcasm dripping off that last word there. I was feeling fine, Goose had just got to bed and I was planning on printing pictures all night. Hubs was having his BFF (inside joke)come over and they were going to have a loser gamer night.
So anyway, I was going to print pictures. Just got some new ink for my printer and then I realized I didn't have photo paper! Well, its not that I don't have any, it was more that I couldn't find it. So off to Walmart I went.
Did my shopping, it was a relativly quick trip in and out. I knew what I wanted. And then it started, out of no where it hit me. The sweat on the brow, the hot pricklys down my arms. My pace quickened and I hurried to the check out. Thank God for self-check out. I don't think I could have spoken to any one at that point.
I pay and head for the door. My head was down, I was almost running, almost took out an employee in the process. And then I realized I went out the wrong door and was parked on the other side of the parking lot. I was moving as fast as I could (in slippers, yes I wore slippers to WM in the middle of the night, I am a fashion goddess, I know... I was also in jammie pants) and I finally get to my car.
I get in the seat and blast the heat. Sometimes, heat helps dissapate my anxiety. At one point I called my husband to let him know I was alive and what was going on, ya know, not to expect me any time soon.
My heart was pounding and I felt nauseaus. Let me explain what thats like for me. Imagine your stomach is a bingo machine, the big metal balls with the crank and the wooden numbers clank around and around. Thats what my stomach feels like and its everything I can do to stop my self from throwing up. And why not just let my self throw up, you ask? Its because once I start, I can't stop. I can't eat. I try to breath, but its like I can't take in enough air. My heart pounds like its running out of blood... its terrible.
I open my eyes and it feels like only minutes later and I am drenched with sweat, the heat on the car is still blaring and I discovered I had been sitting there for over an hour. Not feeling any better, I know I just need to get home so I drive, probably very erratically, the entire way home. Which thankfully is only like five minutes.
Hubs called as I was pulling in the drive way. I ran in the house and went straight for the shower. Sometimes its the only thing that helps. The warm water running over my back, I stayed in until the water ran cold. Then still wrapped in a towel I went to sleep. Spent most of Sunday in bed too. Unfortunately my panic attacks are more of a knock me on my ass for several days kinda thing.
I'm sure some of you are wondering why I am chosing to talk about something so personal and its been a really tough choice for me. But I think what it came down to is not that I want to talk about it. Believe me, I don't WANT to talk about this. Its scary and painful and I don't even fully understand what it is I'm going through. It's more that I HAVE to talk about it. To feel less alone, maybe. To know, that I am not the only one going through this. Maybe to help someone else feel not as alone too.
I just need to talk about it.