Panic attacks

So Pete thinks I need therapy. I told him that I sometimes have panic attacks, like I did the other day--and I have had them periodically (though much less in recent years) since 9/11. I did have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder for a long time after that, having been right down in the middle of the chaotic mess in DC that day. So he seems to think I should talk to a therapist about it, with the hindsight I have now, to better understand and overcome the occasional panic attacks I still have now.

The worst panic attack I had was while riding the metro train home on 9/11, when some idiot said out loud, "Gee, we might feel safe right now, but what if the terrorists have piped in ANTHRAX through the ventilation system on this train?" I just friggin' lost it at that point. I had been somewhat calm on the train ride, helping people get closer to the door, cautioning people to stand back and let others get on, (we were all squished like sardines), and telling a woman to sit and put her head between her legs because she was hyperventilating. I've been trained in security, after all, so I put that training to good use and felt pro-active and the adrenaline rush was getting me through it. But, when that idiot spoke those words, I became absolutely hysterical the rest of the way home, and I was still a hysterical mess during my 12 hour ride to Michigan a couple hours later.

I started having more panic attacks in the weeks after 9/11, where I would bolt upright in my sleep, with tears stained on my face, sweat-covered and frantic, feeling like the house around me was collapsing on top of me and I had to get out. Or, sometimes I would find myself awakened in the middle of the night because I was somehow sitting with my knees tucked in, rocking back and forth, crying. One other time I remember I woke up again with my thumb in my mouth, in the fetal position. I had been sucking on my thumb like a child. I had another bad one several months later, sitting inside a classroom on a college campus (I had decided to go back to school to get my teaching certification), when suddenly I felt like something horrible was about to happen, out of nowhere, like some kind of premonition or something, and I felt the room fill up with tension and clouds of fear all around me, I just knew I had to get out of that room. I stood up, grabbed my purse, and ran out the door, out through the long hallway and out to my car in the parking lot. When I made it to my car, the feeling was gone. I stood there, holding on to my car, trying to breathe slowly and calm myself down. Then I went back in to class.

Since those times in 2001, I have not had many panic attacks. I sometimes feel them coming on now, and I can sometimes talk myself out of them, like "It's ok, it's just your imagination, nothing is going to happen, you're fine, just breathe and calm down," and then it will pass. But this past weekend, with my friend Barbara and Pete both packing boxes of my stuff all around me, the interview that went bad, the long car rides back and forth with Pete driving recklessly at times, and the feeling of being overwhelmed and smothered by him---all those things led me to feel like I had to get the hell out of my house and away from him for awhile, I felt frantic about getting away, I felt trapped and scared to death.

This is why he thinks I need therapy. I told him I am open to the idea, but the more I think about it, the more I feel like my image is now tainted in his eyes, and the imperfections of me are now a damper on the relationship. That comes from years of perfectionism. Now I feel handicapped in some way, and like I might be a burden on him. I don't want to be a burden on anybody, which is why I have kept to myself all these years. Nobody really understands me. Peter works with military people a lot and he has experience with understanding PTSD, so his patience and understanding are the only thing I've had...I guess you could say he's BEEN my therapist for 2.5 years. I don't know if Pete is able to handle it, or me, like Peter does. Telling me I need a therapist, when HE is the one who is supposed to be my Dom and provide me with that kind of thing himself, really makes me wonder if he's going to be able to fully take me on the way I need him to. Passing me off to someone else seems to me like a bit of a cop-out, like a signal that he's not going to deal with it, someone else can, and it's up to me to pursue it elsewhere.

The more I think about it, the more I don't WANT to pursue it elsewhere. So I guess I'll just keep Peter around as my "therapist." Much easier. And cheaper. He doesn't think I'm a mental case at least, like Pete does.

This has made me feel a bit depressed, needless to say. I'm not a freak, I'm not a mental mess, I'm just somebody who has been coping with PTSD and doing it rather well if you ask me, since 2001.

If I go to a mall or a huge crowd of people surround me somewhere, my security training kicks in and I find every exit, I look for fire extinguishers, I scope out where the stairs might be...I notice abandoned packages, I memorize what people are wearing and describe them in my head in 10 seconds or less, all that stuff. I do that at airports, stadiums, concerts, etc., wherever large crowds gather. I don't really LIKE being in large crowds of people. Too many germs and people breathing on me. I'm a bit of a germophobe, but that's not because of 9/11, that is just something I acquired after moving to DC and taking the train to work every day. I used hand sanitizer constantly.

So I do not have OCD, I am not ADD, (like Pete is), and I don't have PTSD so much anymore either. I'm just trying to get through the day and cope with life and all its twists and turns. Problem is, I've just been having too many twists and turns all at one time lately, I'm overwhelmed and emotionally drained, and THAT is something I don't need a therapist for. Vodka would work just fine.

---Sassy Girl