21 March 2022
I’m awake. Or am I? It’s 2 a.m. I’m pretty sure I was having a panic attack in my dream, but now I realize I’m no longer dreaming and the panic attack is very much happening in real time. In my dream I was trying to do the simplest things and I couldn’t do anything. I felt like I was immobile and then frozen in the position I was laying in. My Dexcom (continuous glucose monitor) felt like it was inflamed. I could feel my blood sugar dropping. I needed to get out of bed and eat some candy. Once I realized the state I was in, I knew that I needed to take something for this anxiety attack.
I don’t know exactly how long I spent willing myself to actually get up. It’s not like I had far to go, my bedroom is also the hallway. The bathroom, where the medication was located, was literally two steps away. And the candy, which is usually bedside, was in the kitchen, maybe four steps away. But it wasn’t about how easy and close in proximity everything was. I couldn’t move, which was most likely due to the panic attack that was underway, but then my anxiety quickened with the realization that maybe I couldn’t take care of myself in that moment. Even for a split second that thought is terrifying.
The annoyance I felt with my CGM was worsening by the second. I had been regretting the placement of the device, on the underside of my arm, for almost a week now. Somehow it was a constant irritant. It itched like crazy, usually it doesn’t, at least not so profusely. I wanted to rip it out of my skin, luckily I was awake enough to realize I couldn’t afford to do that. It had been almost impossible to get the prescription for the damn thing in the first place. God forbid I didn’t make it to the refill date because there was no wiggle room. I knew there was absolutely no way my insurance company would go easy on me and grant a refill before that time. They’ve made it abundantly clear that I will only receive a specified amount of a prescription, no matter what transpires. How could something so essential be so elusive? Oh well, this wasn’t the battle to fight. I only had three more days to go until I was allowed to change the location. Was this a factor for a mid sleep panic attack? Im sure it was a contributor.
I got promoted at work, which has lessoned some of the stress regarding finances. I no longer have to work overtime regularly to afford myself. Turns out, I am one costly human. I guess a bum organ will do that. A new role can be stressful. I haven’t noticed an extra load of stress from work in real life, but my dreams tell a different story. I have endless chaotic work dreams. But I’m not at my current job, I’m at other jobs, some I’ve worked, some I haven’t. I found myself back in a restaurant working the front of the house with mobs of people demanding food, and no one else on shift with me. People came around the counter, flooded the kitchen and treated it like a buffet. I was appalled, but helpless to stop it. I tried locking the doors, but I was outnumbered.
I’ll wake from dreams, relieved that it was just a dream, but covered in sweat and exhausted by the whole ordeal. So much for restful sleep. If my mind was working out any new stresses subconsciously, great, but it would be nice if I couldn’t remember the details. I can hardly remember anything anymore, unless I write it down. Couldn’t remembering my stress dreams be the same? I promise to not write them down in exchange for a blank memory.
I feel like a number of things could have contributed to my sleep-panic attack. It could have been the job, the recent battle with my insurance company to cover the devices I need to make my life easier and possible. Or, it could simply be a number of low lying issues that were getting worked out while I slept because I no longer had a therapist to listen to me as I rambled on about my anxiety. Maybe sleep was the only way to release the anxiety. I suppose now might be the right time to find a therapist again. The idea of looking for a therapist who is taking new clients and also covered by my insurance company seemed daunting. I felt squirmy just thinking about all the cold calls I’d soon be making to receptionists. That sounds tiring, I’d rather take a hard pass.
Besides work dreams, my sister was playing a recurring role in family drama dreams. Sometimes I felt like I was living in a soap opera. The conflict was absurd, the dialogue unimpressive, and the acting could use a little work. The dreams were exhausting though. Maybe that was due to my own laborious role in these not so sweet dreams. Nothing ever got resolved and the storyline remained the same. I was bored with the material.
My sister and I have a strained relationship. For years now we’ve communicated through a handful of texts and emails. It’s not great, but limited contact was something I needed and still do. She texted me the other night. It was a nice text. She thanked me for a book recommendation that I had given my mom who had passed it along to her. She also mentioned a trip I had taken to Mexico recently. Funny, I hadn’t told her about the trip. Her text didn’t upset me. After a lot of work I’ve gotten to a place where her interactions no longer trigger me.
This isn’t to say that her contact with me sits right. At least not completely. Why is it that she can send a thoughtful text, but at the same time show no signs of curiosity in regards to amending our relationship? If she wants to know what book I’d recommend or hear about a trip I took, shouldn’t she put in the effort to fix our relationship so that this could be a conversation we have together? Hearing about me through the grapevine feels like cheating. I can’t help but feel like it’s just another form of enabling her behavior.
Besides a couple of emails asking why we don’t speak, she’s never shown much interest in resolution. I’ve replied to her queries honestly, detailing the circumstances. On my end, I feel like I’ve given her all of the information she needs. Her words and actions in the past left me second guessing my own worth and completely devastated me. I’ve explained again and again how I felt and what she can do if she wants to begin to mend the relationship. She has all the tools I can dispense. Even if her memories are blurry, she could still want to mend the hurt she’s caused. If someone close to me told me that we couldn’t have contact because I had hurt them, I would like to think I’d do everything in my power to figure out what I had done and apologize for it. I don’t know whether she is incapable or unwilling, but it’s not my responsibility to do it for her.
My brain was a swirl of chaos. I made a mental checklist of everything I had changed in my life in order to avoid these anxious moments. I quit coffee. I only drank it occasionally for a year. Now, I’m back on caffeine at full speed. Kicking coffee forever would be difficult to achieve, especially when I worked at 6 a.m. every day. Plus, I missed the smell and taste of it and life is too short. For years I made exercise a routine and it was one. I can’t pinpoint when I became unmotivated. I still exercise, but lately only a handful of times per week. I know that’s not enough to keep the crazy at bay for me, and yet I haven’t been able to fall back into a routine.
The night I woke up mid panic attack I had rearranged furniture, a task that always seems to renew my contentment. I had just washed my sheets and lit an aroma therapy candle designated for reflection and peace. Maybe I bought a dud because I found myself to be the opposite of, “at peace.” Or, maybe the candle was too strong and my backlogged reflections and dark thoughts were relinquished in the form of an anxiety attack. An anxiety attack that was so great, it started when I was in a state of unconsciousness. Plus, earlier that day I had sprayed ant killer in the crevices and corners of my small house after I discovered several mass grave sites. I had opened the windows and lit the candle, but maybe the ant killer was too toxic and caused me to combust and explode first in my sleep and then in real life.
As I gripped my pillow for dear life and wished I could get off this ride I grew more incredulous. Why did I have to have a panic attack in my sleep? What is wrong with me that a panic attack during the day isn’t enough anymore? Shouldn’t sleep be off limits? It’s like after finally falling asleep, instead of getting to enjoy it, you’re hit with a typhoon of emotion and inability to save yourself in the moment. It also doesn’t help that the moment, or moments, feel like a lifetime.
I’m no expert, clearly, but I know enough about myself that a mid-sleep panic attack probably isn’t a good sign. When I finally emerged from bed, grabbed some candy and two Hydroxyzine pills and turned on some music, it was only then that I started to feel less frantic. It bothered me that I couldn’t come down on my own. After all these years I still needed a pill or two to offset the panic attack. Is it ideal? No, but in a jam it works. And if something works I don’t need to waste time feeling discouraged that I need training wheels to deal with a panic attack. If the pills are my security blanket for the time being, then so be it.
HALF FULL DECK 