Panic attacks

I've been having panic attacks my entire life. I know this to be true, not because I have known my entire life that my episodes are panic attacks but, because counseling has helped me accept and identify that I have an anxiety disorder. I can remember sever times in my childhood where a panic attack occurred, when I fled the room our of embarrassment, etc etc.

These episodes never become normative. They happen for ridiculous reasons (forgetting my credit card at home, breaking a rule at my best friend's house, watching my dad mow the lawn, losing weight) and often result in pretty extreme fatigue. For the first time in my life I can acknowledge what they are, but I still absolutely hate them.

I had a panic attack yesterday, that's why I'm writing this. Actually, yesterday isn't super accurate. This time, my panic attack started two days ago, lasted through the night and ended sometime yesterday evening. It was scary. I couldn't eat, I managed to sleep but I woke up exhausted by muscles tension, I was afraid of everyone, and all I wanted to do was just curl up in a ball and cry.

Eventually I did. And I did that for close to three hours. It was cathartic, and somewhat comforting, but it was hard. 

It was hard to realize that even after a year of counseling and cognitive behavioral therapy these episodes would still happen and still be somewhat uncontrollable. It was was hard to realize that panic attacks can happen anywhere, even on trips with classmates and best friends. It was hard to realize that I was about to be alone for seven weeks and: whatifoneofthesehappensinbethlehemandiamallaloneanditisshamefultocryandidontwanttoseemweakand...

I think you probably understand.

What was hardest about all of this though, is that it wasn't the last time. Posting a blog about my anxiety and panic attacks isn't a cause of celebration of being cured, but a step at becoming more honest and transparent about what it can be like to be myself sometimes. I do a really good job at letting people know the good things, the exciting things, and the impressive things. I usually try to hide the nitty-gritty of this. I don't like being honest about how sever my panic attacks are. I don't like telling people the depths of my anxiety. I don't like being asked questions. I don't like being pittied. 

But I'm starting to realize that I can't do this all by myself, and so maybe a first step is learning to share with everyone that these things happen, that they're hard, and that I'm learning to live with it in an honest way.

Two days ago, I had a panic attack which has left me in bed all day today. There. Honesty.

Crying: a reflection of learning to mourne

It's been a week full of moments where I felt like I needed to cry. It has seemed for so long that I am pregnant with emotion, and that the only way to let it out is to cry, to let tears fall, to wail, and to express outwardly in inner turmoil that seems to define my life this year.

The terrifying thing is that I can't seem to cry alone anymore. After a year of processing pain with others around me, of relying on tears to usher in some deeper compassionate response, tears seem to be reserved for the moments of vulnerability that need a defense. Crying ushers in a parental compassion, one of care and concern, and consolation. Processing my struggles, my shortcomings, my pain, my grief: these are all things reserved for the inward process. And for the Counselor's office at one on Wednesday afternoons. 

What I have begun to realize over the past few days is that the roles need to be reversed. I need to cry alone, so that I can feel the comfort of a mothering God surround me with grace and patience. And I need to learn that getting stuck in my head ultimately leads to a lot of isolation. 

Rationalizing every moment has led to a lot of great realizations:

I have learned that God is calling me home, that I am the beloved child who has a place in God's warm, compassionate and caring embrace.

I have learned that saying "no" is not just okay, it's necessary.

I have learned that seeking spiritual direction and reconciliation starts within: by gently bathing my spirit with the presence of God; by gently weening my soul from the clutches of popularity, numbing, and avoidance; and by aggressively pursuing God. 

I have learned that taking walks outside is important, that I don't want a boyfriend, that I'm doing well, and that I am called.

And all of this head knowledge, all of these silent commitments to myself have led me to wanting to just sit in my room, reading books, and communing with God. 

There is nothing wrong with such actions. Choosing to spend a Saturday at the library and in my room wrapped up in a book that speaks deeply to grief, spirituality, and faith while my roommates all watch a Harry Potter movie doesn't mean I'm suffering; it means I'm healing. 

What I have become aware of, after moments of extreme physical weakness and anguish; is that I have not cried with God in a long, long time. And after a week of feeling as though that is all I can do, I am beginning to pray and hope that these tears would come and continue the process of healing in a new way.

A new year doesn't reset.

Coming back to North Park this semester, I really thought it would be easier.
Easier to wake up
Easier to care about classes
Easier to face the hurts of last semester without wanting to instantly curl up into a ball
Easier to be there for others
Easier to balance everything

It hasn't been.

And at the risk of going into an emotionally destructive rant about why it hasn't been easy: I will cut to the chase.

The next year is plagued with patterns that cant be relived, revived, or restored.
The next year is going to be full of my memories. And that leaves a void.

So far, that means that I feel really empty. Really really really empty.

But being empty means getting to filled.
And so from here on out I want to be more mindful of how I am filling myself with good, instead of bad. We'll see.

It was just nice realizing that while the milestones have passed; the little moments almost hurt more. And that isn't bad, it just means I still have more to mourn. And I have to let myself do that.

One month.

I have learned that God is not a consolation prize, but a promise that will never stop being true.

I have learned that our hearts don’t break, but just get bruised and get better.

I have learned that it is okay to cry

            That being open takes a lot of energy

                    And that sometimes it's okay to say, "not right now"

I have learned that changing habits and changing names in your phone are not the same thing.

I have learned to seek the light

            To praise God for manna

                        And to break jars of identity at His feet.

I have learned that beds are both dungeons and castles

            dead ends and innerstates

                        And laps to cry in

I have learned again what it means to laugh with your belly

And what it means to sing from your heart, saying the words so boldly you are sure they are true

                        And for the first time in a long time,

            They are.

I have learned that follow outshines trumps failure

            That when the focus shifts, your gaze is broadened

                        And that there is no shame in giving yourself time to feel anger, and joy, and remorse, and regret, and pain, and hatred, and love. And it is okay if every single one of those emotions happens three times a day; because dammit, it is hard to learn how to accept that something that was is suddenly just a memory bank full of broken promises. 

And after a month I am learning that I still don’t have answers.
I have good days

And days when I wake up at 5:30 convinced I am as terrible as you made me feel a month ago.

And there are bad days

And days where I am so unbelievably renewed that I wonder why I didn’t do it myself.

Mostly I have learned that tension is a hard pill to swallow.

            Because it makes you starve and feast all at once. 

feelings

My Junior year of high school, I fell into a depression, and a friend introduced me to the power of slam poetry.
As the words spewed from my computer speakers and called me to realize my worth as a human I began to cry uncontrollably. I had found something that was more powerful than the bible, something that gave life to dead bones, and something that has encouraged and sustained me in hard times since.

recently. I have been processing a lot.
So I am trying to write some poetry to help me through that

Here it is: poem 2 || a work in progress

The stamp on my wrist

From the concert where I saw you for the first time in two years

 Still burns

Of course, in a time such as that I would comment on your hair

I was terrified that you would see right through the kindness and sense the fear

I was terrified that in those thirty seconds

You

Would rush back into my blood stream, through my legs and my arms and into my heart

And that I would let you

And I am not ready to let you

I am not ready to let go of the person I have become at a risk of allowing the doubt that you planted

Revive

I am not ready to again feel like the dark part of the lightning bug—the dim and nasty part that people often want to forget exists

While you paint the sky with dancing lights that keep everyone at bay

And far away

From me

I am not ready to be ready to ask you how you have been, to know the pain that existed in your life the pain that I ran away from and knowingly

Left you alone in

I am not ready to see how you withered away in the dust that I left when I hit the gas as hard as I could and sped away telling myself over and over again "you can't save you both, you have to keep yourself alive"

So I let go.

And when I did I thought, maybe someday I’ll be ready again

Ready again to accept that laughter and that squealing appreciation for everything round and shiny and inhuman

Ready again to love your luster and your glow

Ready to tell you how beautiful your hair is when you notice the simplest things about people

And that when you speak, you shine so brightly that everyone else seems to dull 

and that you are electric.

But tonight, I was not ready, and my skin burns with the reality of such fates.

Since October...

Since october a lot has happened, and the process of divulging relationship tumult, travel experiences, and life development seems exhausting. So I'll explain as needed, which will save both of us some drama and heartache. Some things need to be held inside a little bit longer before I find words to process them out onto a screen--and that is acceptable, needed, and healthy.

I'll start with where I am this summer.
Three months ago this summer was going to be the best. I was going to be working at a camp, or traveling to the Middle East, or working with sex trafficked women . . . and none of that really worked out. And I realized (through prayer, conversation, and my own ingenious rationality) that I was being lead to be home and to rest for the summer. Wow.

So here I am. Working two super-super-part-and-a-half-time jobs, helping my parents organize, sort, clean, and maintain our home, and reconnecting with old friends. It's been about a month, and it still seems super uncomfortable. I missed research papers, and roommates, and the CTA, and walking everywhere, and cooking for myself (sorry, mom). But it's also been a process in finding the difference between wasting a day being lazy, and spending a day preforming tasks that allow me to rest, meditate, and grow.

It's been a process of settling into something I tend to avoid--down time. And that has been healthy.

A lot of this blog is going to serve as a tracker for my in the following two-and-a-half months on what I accomplish, what works, what doesn't, and how I intend to keep certain activities in my life when I return to the hectic world of Chicago.

It's a process I have never gone through before. I'm used to programming and being told when to go to bed and wake up, used to having daily schedules which dictated my whereabouts. And now--it's all on me. In a lot of ways I am my own summer camp counselor. Which a weird analogy I will never make again.

So here are my summer goals:
walk places
read books that grow my understanding of Theology, the World, and what I can do.
Reflect on these books through journaling
stay up-to-date and reflective on what is going on in the Middle East (did we all know that Fatah and Hamas are together now?)
craft (a lot, this can include baking)
and spend quality time with people doing things that I enjoy--and honesty with this.

That's all for now.