The Vertical Horizontal (67)

It's like looking up and sideways at the same time. As if my eyes were on either side of my head, rather than facing forward. Disorientation. A disturbing case of winding, toggle and Escher like staircases. I lean forward, only to be balanced backward into an upright position. Circling, spinning, alternating junctions of pause, start, pause, start. Sound dismembers, snapping my limbs off, as if in a Saw movie. This is instant. This is a panic attack. This is anxiety.

A feeling of chaos, mixed with a heaviness. You want to run away, find a dark corner. Yet, you remain fixed, weighted, numb. It is so all consuming, there is no remembrance of before. There is no recognition of then. No change in position forecast. Just a somber, tight, taut, load of uncertainty. Lights are no longer distinct, they convert into a blinding, surround sound movement of flash, flicker, fog. This is instant. This is a panic attack. This is anxiety.

It is fickle, this beast. It does not rear its ugly head on cue- it never warns us. It creeps in when we are calm and relaxed, or we are traveling through a crowd. It follows us into the restroom, hides under our bed. It has the audacity to wait outside for us on a family outing. It's cause is as secret as its advance. We can not prepare for the siege. We can only halt its advance- battle- push back the troops of upheaval. It swallows. It digests. It excretes. We, merely it's nourishment.

Anxiety is scary. It is deliberate, yet we do not welcome it. Panic attacks are a tingling essence- familiar and inevitable. If we can close our eyes- eliminate the vertical horizon. If we ignore the rush of sound- deafen the distraction. If we can convince ourselves we are in fact under attack- take a deep breath- look the cavalry in the eye. We can learn to raise the white flag of defeat before there is carnage.

We have to accept that we can't prevent it entirely. But we can learn to understand it. Contain it. Slow down its incursion. We can slow, because it takes time no matter what, our breath. We can see in the dark, as we close our eyes, a quiet safe retreat. We can upload to our minds playlist a song that helps us focus. We can breathe. Just find our dungeon. It is this dungeon of our construction- where we can go, lock the gates and feel safe.

But, it takes awhile. We have to fight the urge to fall to the floor and scream first.

Then, we see it. The stillness, the singular sound of a familiar voice. The dimness of a narrow focus. This is when it ends. The invasion has been interrupted, the barrage blocked. We are finally becoming whole again. We are realizing the assault, accepting our defeat- and moving on.