One of the symptoms of my illness is terror. Absolute panic as if you had just gotten missed being hit by a racing car, or the dog was coming at you with teeth bared but then a leash pulled him back a foot away from your arm. And you stand there shaking because you can't believe you are unharmed.
I wake up like this almost every morning, shaking and teary-eyed, and these attacks come on suddenly throughout the day. They are triggered by exertion, by the smallest amount of stress, and if I have any unfinished business emotionally or mentally the despair and sobbing set in for minutes or hours. I crumple to the floor in tears. My limbs are shaking. My hands and jaw shake.
The observer in me says, "You have got to calm this down. You're body can't heal with this much fear running through your veins." Sometimes I find I'm too weak to do it alone and I'm on my knees at the edge of my coffee table, head on my clasped hands, pleading to God or whoever is listening to hold me and make the fear go away. I can't tell you why the dread is so profound but it is.
Lately, my avenue to helping myself has been to ask myself if there is something I can do about whatever is distressing me? Even if I'm so weak I can't take the garbage out or do the dishes, is there still something I can do in the world to release myself?
Sometimes the answer is yes -- go breathe. go sit and breathe and count the seconds. Sometimes it's go listen to a guided meditation and let the voice lull you to sleep for 20 minutes. Sometimes, it's go eat something. Sometimes, it's call Betsy and see if there is a remedy I can take.
Two days ago it was go call your soul coach and lay it on the line and she says go write a letter. Go tell him the whole truth and be kind to yourself. And so I did, and then I slept on it without sending it. The next day I spent much of the day editing and it calmed me down. By evening, I felt the panic setting in. The letter was done and I was ready to hit the send button and the panic just flooded me. What is it, I asked myself, that is in me that has wanted to hold onto this much internal distress for five years? Considering this rocked me to my core. And the next question: who will I be without this heavy weight that I've used to beat myself up for the past five years? What will I do with my freedom?
I hit send. And I sat there.
Today I feel blank and too tired to even acknowledge the incredible gift I've given to myself. By sending that email all of the past baggage of my life -- that I'm aware of -- is complete. That was the last big thing. Now I have nothing but the present moment. Yes, I would imagine there is residual trauma I'm still carrying from things I'm not aware of, but I have done my work.
And so it's frustrating tonight to find myself shaking and rocking myself back and forth on the couch, in a panic with no life-story reason. It's just panic, like aftershocks. And like all the other times, I find my left hand is pushing on my heart, holding my heart. And I just keep sobbing.
I want this illness to be cleared so badly. I want to feel better. How long can my body withstand trauma before it's too weak to keep going? Why am I not improving? I believe everything I'm doing is good and part of my healing but why have I felt the same way for so long now?
Nothing lasts forever and that brings me comfort. I am impatient tonight to know which way this illness is gonna break, and when. I have done so much good for my life in these last 7 weeks so I have gratitude. Now I just want enough peace to sleep well and feel calm in my skin, and wake up tomorrow like everything's alright.
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