Being Alice: Panic, Don't Panic, Just Breathe.

Also, I think I've mentioned that complex partial seizures and panic attacks go hand in hand. But they're not the same thing. They can sometimes trigger each other. A seizure can sometimes cause a panic attack. A panic attack can sometimes cause a seizure. The next person who asks me, "But are you sure you had a seizure? Maybe it was a panic attack!" is getting snapped at. I know the damn difference, okay? I'm in my own head. I've mentioned that, right?

I had a panic attack last night, in my sleep. It woke me up around four in the morning. I sat upright with my fingers pressed to the pulse in my neck. My heart was racing beyond what I thought it was capable of. I was in a cold sweat. I was shaking. I thought I was going to die. Then, I had a complex partial seizure. It was a completely different sensation. I fell through my brain and into my twisted looking glass down into my twisted rabbit hole. I don't remember what happened in that darkness, but I do remember whimpering and shivering and talking loudly. I said, "Something is wrong. Am I dying? I'm not safe. I don't feel right. I don't feel safe." But my voice was so hollow. I didn't feel completely inside my own body. I remember Adam mumbling in his sleep, turning over and putting his arm over my waist, pulling himself close to me, trying to cuddle with me. My hollow voice began to whisper, "I need to feel safe. I need to feel whole. I need to feel calm. My heart is beating too fast. I need to breathe." I lay back down and tried to breathe the way I did when I meditated. Gradually, I came back into myself. There was a quick burst of light. My pulse slowly slowly slowed down. Before I drifted back to sleep, I saw my familiar guides, pale Alicia and dark Sirena, staring at me as I flew back up the rabbit hole, back through the looking glass. The fact that I saw them at all gave me comfort. I slept deep and hard until the cats woke me up. The fibromyalgia flare was still there, still brutal. I put on my best happy mask and perked myself up.

Adam and I picked up Charlotte. Went to Robeks for smoothies (Cupuacu-Acai with whey protein for me). Barnes & Noble for books, because the books I'd ordered were in (Mike Shevdon's Sixty-One Nails and Road To Bedlam, Richelle Mead's Last Sacrifice). Bagel City for lunch (wheat bagel with lox and cream cheese for me). Went back to Charlotte's for a while. Came home. Rested.

Throughout it all I felt a sinking sadness, a flatness, a sort of depression, a tired emptiness that felt like the last scrapings of some unnamed negative emotion. I felt as though I had been crying all day without crying at all, and I was drained. I was exhausted. I am still drained and exhausted. I think I'll take an early bedtime. Adam has tomorrow off, since it's finally a slow week for him at work. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow.

Being Alice: Panic, Don't Panic, Just Breathe.

Also, I think I've mentioned that complex partial seizures and panic attacks go hand in hand. But they're not the same thing. They can sometimes trigger each other. A seizure can sometimes cause a panic attack. A panic attack can sometimes cause a seizure. The next person who asks me, "But are you sure you had a seizure? Maybe it was a panic attack!" is getting snapped at. I know the damn difference, okay? I'm in my own head. I've mentioned that, right?

I had a panic attack last night, in my sleep. It woke me up around four in the morning. I sat upright with my fingers pressed to the pulse in my neck. My heart was racing beyond what I thought it was capable of. I was in a cold sweat. I was shaking. I thought I was going to die. Then, I had a complex partial seizure. It was a completely different sensation. I fell through my brain and into my twisted looking glass down into my twisted rabbit hole. I don't remember what happened in that darkness, but I do remember whimpering and shivering and talking loudly. I said, "Something is wrong. Am I dying? I'm not safe. I don't feel right. I don't feel safe." But my voice was so hollow. I didn't feel completely inside my own body. I remember Adam mumbling in his sleep, turning over and putting his arm over my waist, pulling himself close to me, trying to cuddle with me. My hollow voice began to whisper, "I need to feel safe. I need to feel whole. I need to feel calm. My heart is beating too fast. I need to breathe." I lay back down and tried to breathe the way I did when I meditated. Gradually, I came back into myself. There was a quick burst of light. My pulse slowly slowly slowed down. Before I drifted back to sleep, I saw my familiar guides, pale Alicia and dark Sirena, staring at me as I flew back up the rabbit hole, back through the looking glass. The fact that I saw them at all gave me comfort. I slept deep and hard until the cats woke me up. The fibromyalgia flare was still there, still brutal. I put on my best happy mask and perked myself up.

Adam and I picked up Charlotte. Went to Robeks for smoothies (Cupuacu-Acai with whey protein for me). Barnes & Noble for books, because the books I'd ordered were in (Mike Shevdon's Sixty-One Nails and Road To Bedlam, Richelle Mead's Last Sacrifice). Bagel City for lunch (wheat bagel with lox and cream cheese for me). Went back to Charlotte's for a while. Came home. Rested.

Throughout it all I felt a sinking sadness, a flatness, a sort of depression, a tired emptiness that felt like the last scrapings of some unnamed negative emotion. I felt as though I had been crying all day without crying at all, and I was drained. I was exhausted. I am still drained and exhausted. I think I'll take an early bedtime. Adam has tomorrow off, since it's finally a slow week for him at work. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow.

Being Alice: Panic, Don't Panic, Just Breathe.

Also, I think I've mentioned that complex partial seizures and panic attacks go hand in hand. But they're not the same thing. They can sometimes trigger each other. A seizure can sometimes cause a panic attack. A panic attack can sometimes cause a seizure. The next person who asks me, "But are you sure you had a seizure? Maybe it was a panic attack!" is getting snapped at. I know the damn difference, okay? I'm in my own head. I've mentioned that, right?

I had a panic attack last night, in my sleep. It woke me up around four in the morning. I sat upright with my fingers pressed to the pulse in my neck. My heart was racing beyond what I thought it was capable of. I was in a cold sweat. I was shaking. I thought I was going to die. Then, I had a complex partial seizure. It was a completely different sensation. I fell through my brain and into my twisted looking glass down into my twisted rabbit hole. I don't remember what happened in that darkness, but I do remember whimpering and shivering and talking loudly. I said, "Something is wrong. Am I dying? I'm not safe. I don't feel right. I don't feel safe." But my voice was so hollow. I didn't feel completely inside my own body. I remember Adam mumbling in his sleep, turning over and putting his arm over my waist, pulling himself close to me, trying to cuddle with me. My hollow voice began to whisper, "I need to feel safe. I need to feel whole. I need to feel calm. My heart is beating too fast. I need to breathe." I lay back down and tried to breathe the way I did when I meditated. Gradually, I came back into myself. There was a quick burst of light. My pulse slowly slowly slowed down. Before I drifted back to sleep, I saw my familiar guides, pale Alicia and dark Sirena, staring at me as I flew back up the rabbit hole, back through the looking glass. The fact that I saw them at all gave me comfort. I slept deep and hard until the cats woke me up. The fibromyalgia flare was still there, still brutal. I put on my best happy mask and perked myself up.

Adam and I picked up Charlotte. Went to Robeks for smoothies (Cupuacu-Acai with whey protein for me). Barnes & Noble for books, because the books I'd ordered were in (Mike Shevdon's Sixty-One Nails and Road To Bedlam, Richelle Mead's Last Sacrifice). Bagel City for lunch (wheat bagel with lox and cream cheese for me). Went back to Charlotte's for a while. Came home. Rested.

Throughout it all I felt a sinking sadness, a flatness, a sort of depression, a tired emptiness that felt like the last scrapings of some unnamed negative emotion. I felt as though I had been crying all day without crying at all, and I was drained. I was exhausted. I am still drained and exhausted. I think I'll take an early bedtime. Adam has tomorrow off, since it's finally a slow week for him at work. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow.

Being Alice: Panic, Don't Panic, Just Breathe.

Also, I think I've mentioned that complex partial seizures and panic attacks go hand in hand. But they're not the same thing. They can sometimes trigger each other. A seizure can sometimes cause a panic attack. A panic attack can sometimes cause a seizure. The next person who asks me, "But are you sure you had a seizure? Maybe it was a panic attack!" is getting snapped at. I know the damn difference, okay? I'm in my own head. I've mentioned that, right?

I had a panic attack last night, in my sleep. It woke me up around four in the morning. I sat upright with my fingers pressed to the pulse in my neck. My heart was racing beyond what I thought it was capable of. I was in a cold sweat. I was shaking. I thought I was going to die. Then, I had a complex partial seizure. It was a completely different sensation. I fell through my brain and into my twisted looking glass down into my twisted rabbit hole. I don't remember what happened in that darkness, but I do remember whimpering and shivering and talking loudly. I said, "Something is wrong. Am I dying? I'm not safe. I don't feel right. I don't feel safe." But my voice was so hollow. I didn't feel completely inside my own body. I remember Adam mumbling in his sleep, turning over and putting his arm over my waist, pulling himself close to me, trying to cuddle with me. My hollow voice began to whisper, "I need to feel safe. I need to feel whole. I need to feel calm. My heart is beating too fast. I need to breathe." I lay back down and tried to breathe the way I did when I meditated. Gradually, I came back into myself. There was a quick burst of light. My pulse slowly slowly slowed down. Before I drifted back to sleep, I saw my familiar guides, pale Alicia and dark Sirena, staring at me as I flew back up the rabbit hole, back through the looking glass. The fact that I saw them at all gave me comfort. I slept deep and hard until the cats woke me up. The fibromyalgia flare was still there, still brutal. I put on my best happy mask and perked myself up.

Adam and I picked up Charlotte. Went to Robeks for smoothies (Cupuacu-Acai with whey protein for me). Barnes & Noble for books, because the books I'd ordered were in (Mike Shevdon's Sixty-One Nails and Road To Bedlam, Richelle Mead's Last Sacrifice). Bagel City for lunch (wheat bagel with lox and cream cheese for me). Went back to Charlotte's for a while. Came home. Rested.

Throughout it all I felt a sinking sadness, a flatness, a sort of depression, a tired emptiness that felt like the last scrapings of some unnamed negative emotion. I felt as though I had been crying all day without crying at all, and I was drained. I was exhausted. I am still drained and exhausted. I think I'll take an early bedtime. Adam has tomorrow off, since it's finally a slow week for him at work. I'm sure I'll feel better tomorrow.

It's relative

Also, I don't really know what to say when loved ones, friends, and acquaintances ask me how I'm doing. What do you say to each in turn? When does it get to the point where it becomes like a broken record, because your normal is damaged? "Fine" and "All right" don't always mean what they say, and I want to say something other than "In pain, fatigued, hoping things get better." I know things get better, but part of how to make things better involves myself and my actions. So all I can imply right now is "I'm hurting and tired, and I'm trying to make things better for myself. How are you?"

It's relative

Also, I don't really know what to say when loved ones, friends, and acquaintances ask me how I'm doing. What do you say to each in turn? When does it get to the point where it becomes like a broken record, because your normal is damaged? "Fine" and "All right" don't always mean what they say, and I want to say something other than "In pain, fatigued, hoping things get better." I know things get better, but part of how to make things better involves myself and my actions. So all I can imply right now is "I'm hurting and tired, and I'm trying to make things better for myself. How are you?"

It's relative

Also, I don't really know what to say when loved ones, friends, and acquaintances ask me how I'm doing. What do you say to each in turn? When does it get to the point where it becomes like a broken record, because your normal is damaged? "Fine" and "All right" don't always mean what they say, and I want to say something other than "In pain, fatigued, hoping things get better." I know things get better, but part of how to make things better involves myself and my actions. So all I can imply right now is "I'm hurting and tired, and I'm trying to make things better for myself. How are you?"

It's relative

Also, I don't really know what to say when loved ones, friends, and acquaintances ask me how I'm doing. What do you say to each in turn? When does it get to the point where it becomes like a broken record, because your normal is damaged? "Fine" and "All right" don't always mean what they say, and I want to say something other than "In pain, fatigued, hoping things get better." I know things get better, but part of how to make things better involves myself and my actions. So all I can imply right now is "I'm hurting and tired, and I'm trying to make things better for myself. How are you?"