Last weekend I had a panic attack. It wasn’t a particularly
bad one, putting aside the fact that they’re all, you know, horrible. I mean,
no concept with either of those words in it is nice. Even writing this out has made me super-aware
of my heartbeat, the way it fists on my breastbone; my breath, the way those
accelerating swells bind me into my clothing. And how, okay, that’s a good
thing, but it doesn’t stop. It just doesn’t stop. And the heat’s rising, that
very particular sensation at my temples and if I lift my fingers I’ll see them
trembling and my skin is tingling and...
Breathe out. Slowly.
Butitsallhappeningitsallmybodyrevoltingallthoughtschiming
Breathe in. Slowly.
CaughtinsomethingthatIcantescapebecauseitsmeandwhywontitstop
It stopped before. You mastered this. You have enjoyed your
body’s good reactions to challenge. You will inhabit it happily again.
Nonononononono!
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Before all that, it turns out, is something like a migraine
aura. I caught a whiff of it, running late for a gig in what turned out to be
an impossible-to-breach venue once everyone else had gone inside.
“I’ll power through it, distracted by the entertainment and
my pride in my friends’ achievements...”
Wandering alone around deserted-looking buildings in the
dark, in a quiet and imposing part of town is no-one’s favourite. Certainly not
mine. Well, sometimes. But not that night. And knowing I was on the verge of
panic was a mixed blessing, let me tell you. So I made my way back to my bike
in the freezing cold and called everyone I trusted who I thought might be
available. Luckily for me, someone finally answered, and I was able to talk to
someone who wasn’t going to judge me, tell me what to do, or ask me a ton of
unhelpful questions. They said:
“I can do whatever you need - either let you talk or tell
you what works for me or blather to distract you.”
Right there, teetering one-footed on the edge of desperation,
I chose for me to talk, then them to distract me. Once it was clear to me that
I was only rehearsing the panic that had led me there rather than actually
purging it, I asked to swap roles. Then I sat down, caressing the icy, fake
cobbles of the ground around the bike stands. I imagined the heat of sun-warmed
rock beneath my trembling fingers, and I listened to my friend talk,
uncondemning and measured, and then they moved onto a topic close to both of
our hearts that was also not a burden to me and I felt myself uncoiling, there
on pitiless concrete, softening into the circle of a hug from 50 miles away.
Thank you. You know who you are.
I spent the next two days poisoned with adrenalin and its
fallout. I treated myself very carefully. I was as assertive as I could be
about my needs. I supported people making and performing art. I was lovely. I
was tired. I was present. I was fed and watered and wonderful and happy and so,
so tired.
So I’ve learned some things from this:
1. You can feel the panic aura as it approaches. This is useful; very useful to know.
2. These things work:
a) Recognising and putting boundaries on it before it gets
going properly.
b) Phoning someone you trust, if you can’t get physically
to someone you trust.
c) Sitting down and touching the ground, no matter where
you are.
d) Talking yourself down using a kind of loving
dissociation.
e) Eating hot chicken soup once the main freak-out is
passed.
f) Talking about it so that you can remember all the people
saying “that sucks, poor you” rather than “get away from me, freak!”
g) Remembering.
3. My friends are even more awesome than I already thought
they were.
4. I can ask for help.
5. If I go for a week of short/ crap sleeps I lose my shit.
I hope this has been useful for any of you. It’s been scary
and useful for me – both the writing and the sharing.
Be well, lovely folk.
