Part two: ‘Can I play with Madness?!’
Skipping forward from my teens to my mid twenties:
In 2012- My mother got diagnosed with breast cancer, I was living away, couldn’t drive (Still can’t), I had just started my first major job post uni, I was in alone in a brand new city and of course it was nearly christmas!
My world shattered, I sobbed and sobbed, watching THAT episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer- The Body (You know the one I mean) on repeat because I felt like what ever I was feeling wasn’t enough, then I talked myself into feeling guilty, about feeling so devastated, (after all it wasn’t me that had to go through the treatment). Talk about needing to give myself a break..
Then the nightmares started- but that is for a different post.
Luckily we found out it was caught early enough about 2 weeks following her diagnosis, that she could undergo treatment. By august 2013, my mum had completed treatment and was on on the mend. As my father pointed out, she was also no longer looking like Mrs Golem, with the regrowth of her hair, (Mum did find this quite funny, we have a weird sense of humor in our family!).
By September 2013, however, one night I was experiencing on regular occasions, feelings of breathlessness or not feeling like I was breathing enough air in. Tingling sensations in my lips, arms and occasionally legs, noise sensitivity- feeling over powered and over whelmed by loud noises. Irritability as I didn’t want people near me as I felt claustrophobic. My heart would do clusters of irregular heartbeats and would feel like it wanted to burst out of my chest like a scene from Alien- I thought I was dying, I thought I wouldn’t wake up in the morning. It was one of the single most scariest experiences of my life. And I was on my own.
Of course I didn’t think to call anyone- what if they didn’t believe me? or worse what if over panicked them for no reason?
After 6 weeks of these intermittent episodes however, I had manage to convince myself they weren’t life threatening episodes (or at least you’d hope not on going for 6 weeks).. which was relief, but had managed however to convince myself that I was going mad... Not entirely sure which was worse. 2 more weeks of a quite apparent (to myself, at least) decent into madness and my logical brain (yes I occasionally have one) had finally waded through 6 weeks of sheer panic and plans of straights jackets with padded cells. I stated to think logically about the symptoms, my mothers recent illness, recent big changes, years of low self esteem, current symptoms and I diagnosed myself with anxiety attacks.
Now it was mid October by this point so once I had made a more logical sounding conclusion in my head, I managed to convince myself to go to the doctors. I did, explaining recent events and symptoms, and was promptly looked up and down by the Doctor and told:
“you don’t look like someone who would have anxiety problems”
(What should I look like?)
...and asked to leave.
Well in the 60 seconds it had taken for me to the leave the surgery, I had convinced myself that a straight jacket and the men in white coats would soon be on there way to me. I went home and cried. After a few weeks of recurring symptoms of panic and wallowing all in between trying to work as well. I gave myself a firm talking too and started putting little things in place to help me relax.
Having candlelit baths, mediation cd’s breathing exercises etc. And they did work for a while.
Thanks for reading!
