It’s been five months since I was diagnosed with a panic disorder.
It’s been that long on Zoloft and Ativan.
I endured a very hard childhood and thought I had escaped the worst of it when lo and behold, one day back in October I had my very first panic attack.
I thought I was dying.
Ran off to the E.R. and the doctors told me that I was not having a heart attack nor was I have a stroke.
They performed an EKG, took blood, and a CT scan of my noggin and everything came back fine.
From there, I was sent home with a script of meds.
Getting used to those was like getting used to having the flu for 3 weeks. I was nauseous. I was hot and then cold and then clammy and the panic attacks weren’t done. As soon as I felt anxiety coming on, knew what to ‘look for’, the symptoms would change and suddenly I’d be flush with a burning sensation from my waist all the way up to the top of my head.
In the interim, I started eating healthier, cutting out soda, coffee, anything with caffeine. I started drinking more water and working out to rid myself of extra energy.
I’ve slimmed down in places and bulked up in others.
Yet – there is one thing that I wish I had on tap. Something I could just press a button for.
That has been the oddest feeling that I’ve had since this all began. The desire for a bone-crushing, all-encompassing, shit’s gonna be alright, I love you, man, hug.
I swear to God if there were a six foot seven, Mexican, biker gang member named Jerry who was willing to administer so said hug.
I’d let him.
I would just go with it.
It’s the weirdest feeling. It’s like hunger pangs.
I am thinking about having a t-shirt made for when I go out in public.
Panic Sufferer: Hugs help.