Have you ever had one of those nights where you're just lying there, drifting off to sleep, and slowly become aware that you're counting?
OK but have you then come to realize you aren't counting sheep or butterflies or LOLcats but you are, instead, counting (and naming) the kids from Eight Is Enough?
OK but have you then found yourself wide awake because dammit! You've only managed to name 7 and who was the 8th kid? Not Nicholas. No. You got him right off the bat. And not David or Tommy or Mary or Elizabeth. And not Joanie either. Susan took some time but you got to her eventually because you remembered she'd been married to Meryl the Pearl and who could forget Meryl the Pearl?!
Clearly I can't.
OK but have you then started naming the spouses and the actors and plot lines of various episodes and even though you STILL can't remember the name of that 8th kid you are now playing Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon except with Willie Aames?
And then, just about the time you are trying to decide whether or not you're going to admit you are now fully awake and obsessing by going through all the trouble of reaching over to grab your phone so you can google the cast of Eight Is Enough or just wait, lying there sleeplessly until the morning, and risk forgetting that you've got this burning first world problem to solve, you sit up in bed, snap your fingers, and exclaim...
Which startles the cat who was, until then, sleeping soundly next to your head and sends him skittering off in the direction of a quieter place to get some sleep uninterrupted by outbursts from a crazy 80's-pop-culture-obsessing lady. Which is too bad really because once the mystery was solved you were able to fall almost immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep?
I've been writing two books consecutively for the last several weeks. That's the excuse I'm giving for my lack of posting on the blog during much of April and May anyway (but it's true).
One of them, the one that overtook me by surprise while I was busy working on the first and still maintaining some kind of blogging schedule, is a non-fiction road trip through my past, weaving together anecdotes to document just how I got here, right now, an agoraphobe unable to drive myself on the freeway or at night.
Yes. I am agoraphobic.
No, I'm not afraid to leave my house.
What I am afraid of is leaving my house and getting behind the wheel, having a massive panic attack, fainting, and killing myself and other people.
According to the National Institute of Health, panic disorder with agoraphobia "is an anxiety disorder in which a person has attacks of intense fear and anxiety. There is also a fear of being in places where it is hard to escape, or where help might not be available."
Like, you know, when I'm driving...especially alone.
It had gotten so bad there for awhile I wouldn't take the freeway at all. Then the anxiety began rearing its nasty head while I was driving on surface streets too. Eventually, I discovered I never felt at all safe behind the wheel to the point that I was petrified just contemplating making a left hand turn into oncoming traffic.
Fabulous.
The last couple of weeks have been better. I've been able to get on the highway most days - at least for a few minutes - and, occasionally, can make it all the way to work without diverting onto the side roads. On Saturday, I even drove at night.
Which is where this entry actually starts.
There was supposed to be a LAN party and BBQ at Denhac Saturday evening after a full day of classes at the space. Unfortunately, the 95º heat had subdued pretty much everyone's enthusiasm for sitting inside in front of a laptop and so the LAN part of the party got cancelled. But the BBQ was still on...at least the grill was on and there was meat to eat...and I wanted to go because socializing is what I do. However, Acr0nym had much to do that afternoon and plans later in the evening so asking him to pick me up and take me home was more than a little impractical.
So...I decided to drive myself knowing full well I'd be driving home well after dark.
THAT was a huge deal.
So that night, I'm sitting up at Denhac, talking to Spux, telling him what a HUGE deal it was that I'd driven and an acquaintance friend interrupts and asks, "Seriously. Exactly what is the big deal with driving? It's not like you live very far."
I'd like to think she didn't mean to sound snide, condescending, or rude. But, truthfully, the way she said it was rather off-putting and I was kind of offended.
Regardless, I tried to explain it to her the best I could. She then asked if I'd been in a car accident recently - which, of course, I was in a car accident just over 2 years ago now - and when I confirmed her suspicion she just nodded and moved on to another conversation. Like the car accident explained everything.
Which it doesn't.
Not at all.
One of the things I'm attempting to convey in the book I'm writing is that panic disorder - specifically panic disorder with agoraphobia - isn't anything like an anxiety attack. I've lived with anxiety for so long, the only time I truly understand the level of anxiety I experience on a daily basis is in those few, rare, brief moments - usually after coming down from a particularly vicious PTSD episode - when I'm not anxious at all. Then I realize at what level of anxiety I function nearly all the time.
However, an anxiety attack is nothing...NOTHING...compared to a panic attack. Did I mention nothing? Because I mean it's not even in the same produce department with the apples and oranges. It's not even in the same grocery store.
A panic attack feels like...death is immediately imminent. A panic attack feels like you are disconnected from your physical self...a self that would just randomly swing the steering wheel into oncoming traffic just to get it over with while your mental self fights against that very thing. A panic attack comes with heart palpitations, feeling faint, rapid, ragged breathing, and an assured sense of doom. A panic attack makes you believe you are crazy. At the height of a panic attack, when I'm terrified I will deliberately cause a car accident by swinging that wheel, I feel 100% crazy. Wouldn't it be crazy to do such a thing...cause a pile up on the highway? Because that's what I think I'm about to do as soon as I merge into traffic.
You may think you've had a panic attack in the past. But, until you actually do? You have no idea what it is like. It is literally the worst feeling in the world. A panic attack is an anxiety attack to the nth power. I can't even quantify it, it is that bad.
And that has nothing to do with the car accident I had - a car accident in which I wasn't at fault in the slightest - and wrote about the subsequent anxiety it caused here.
Anyway!
Yeah so, where was I?
Oh! Yeah. So the fact that I drove myself to a location 5 miles from home when I knew I was going to have to get myself home after dark was a BIG deal.
But, you know, I'd been feeling good for a couple of weeks and, along with that feeling, I was also complacent. Feeling as though I'd conquered the panic. To my chagrin, with that sense of well being also came a drought of words to offer up to the book about feeling bad. I hadn't made any progress - I hadn't even opened the file - for several days. I figured I was over it.
HA!
My friendly acquaintance re-opened a can of wordy worms. While I haven't experienced another panic attack since she asked me about it, I did feel affronted by her nonchalant response toward why I don't typically drive. As though I had to defend myself and defend Acr0nym and a couple of others who have been more than willing to drive my ass around while I've worked my way through this...THING. A thing I can't even describe and can't even say for certain is in the past tense.
I guess I should thank her.
Because, last night, I sat at my computer and wrote for several hours. I wasn't writing deliberately. I wasn't editing as I moved along. It was stream-of-consciousness writing. Something I never do outside of my paper journal (oh yes, I also keep a paper journal of all those hedonistic thoughts that should never see the light of the internet). I wrote and wrote...about panicking, about driving, about non-husbands and commitment and fear. I wrote about wandering through miles of underground drainage tunnels in Southern California...about Andy, about Travis, about love. I wrote about happiness and transparency...about making a difference in other peoples' lives.
And while none of it is suitable for consumption by the public, re-reading it after I was done, I was struck by the connections, the correlations, the revelations.
I realized...I'm just now - after all this time - piecing all of it together.
And that seemed profound...the pieces and parts coming together as though my life were a puzzle.
So...thanks to my friendly acquaintaince. I choose to believe you didn't intend to be dismissive and now the book is no longer de-railed. We're right on track and right on schedule. Your comments + stream-of-consciousness writing = good on me. All systems go.
