I'll admit it. Today was not a success. I went to my daughter's livestock show this morning. It was supposed to start at 9:15a.m. Two-and-a-half hours later, her group still had not shown. I was okay for that first hour or so. After all, I had prepared by taking my Klonopin before we left the house. But then it started happening. Everything started getting unbearably loud and stuffy. I felt like I was suffocating. My chest started to hurt, all the way through to my back, and down my left arm. I felt like I was going to throw up, pass out, and/or die. I have went through this enough to know that it's not a heart attack; no need to call an ambulance. But I would not wish a panic attack on my worst enemy. Needless to say, we had to get out of there. Once we got to the car I took another Klonopin, closed my eyes and tried to imagine I was far, far away. My chest hurt all the way home but by the time we got there I was feeling calmer, slurring my speech like a drunk (thanks, Klonopin) and ready for a nap. Luckily, my son was wiped out from getting up early so we slept for a few hours.
I still don't feel great. Panic attacks wipe me out much like migraines do. After all that intensity, the body just doesn't have anything left to exert. I feel terrible for not being able to stay long enough to see my daughter show her goat. These shows are not my cup of tea, but I make myself go when I can because I love her. But I have to wonder, what is worse: showing up and "embarrassing" my kids with these panic attacks, or not showing up at all. Because a lot of times I don't risk it. This is why I rarely make it to school functions (I went to both my daughters' open houses last week but I had to leave early from the middle school because I felt an attack coming on). I hate being this way. I hate how other people (won't mention names, but you can imagine) think I just make excuses not to be there for my kids. Like I would actually miss part of their lives on purpose! Bull----!!! But that's how it looks to someone who has never experienced this type of thing.
I don't really care what others think of me, but I ache for my kids. My daughters are 13 and 11, and they seem to be more understanding than most adults. They have (unfortunately) seen firsthand what the anxiety does to me. They have even told me to stay home sometimes. I don't want to be an absent parent. There are so many things I miss from their lives as it is. I don't get to be a full time parent to them like I do my son. I'm more like a fun (though neurotic) aunt. I would like to kick and pout and scream that it's not fair (and sometimes I do when no one is around) but that doesn't change anything.
I feel like a failure today, but that's not true. I did try. I tried and, though things didn't turn out the way I wanted them to, I faced my fear for as long as I could without having to be carried out on a gurney. I love my children. They love me. I won't always be present at livestock shows or other school functions, but I hope they do realize that they mean more to me than anything else in the world. I hope they never have to experience what it's like to have a panic attack. I am proud of them, and they make me try a lot harder than I would without them. It doesn't paint the perfect portrait of a family, the way things are. But it's close enough.
No comments:
Post a Comment