Last night, I had an anxiety attack. My first, real, proper, self-preserving anxiety event. And it was absolutely horrible.
As soon as I climbed into bed and closed my eyes, it started. I felt very odd, as if nothing were real. I was smelling odd things, like wood chips, and the plastic from toys I had when I was young. Nothing generated by the real world.
I was convinced the vomit was coming and wouldn’t stop, then I wouldn’t be able to feed Ru, or make it through the day.
I thought writing a full, meandering, but distant account of the events from the beginning – the very beginning – would be therapeutic. I even went as far as to think I would enjoy the process, fictionalising aspects as I saw fit.
I did enjoy bashing out two thousand words of absolute drivel, letting my brain follow its thought processes and writing it all down.
What I was actually doing, without realising, was triggering myself, over and over again until I came to bed where I lie down, the last few bars of the psytrance going round and round in my head. Then the horror came.
I detached. But not in the way I used to during my teens while I self-harmed. That was controlled. This, this was far more scary.
I felt like my brain was going on some kind of journey without me and that everything felt odd. Even the skin on my body was odd. I had waves of nausea as I panicked about feeling so strange and thought that maybe I would never feel normal again.
I’ve had broken sleep plagued by dreams of drowning.
Is this what Post Traumatic Stress Disorder does? There were no flashbacks from the birth, or the few hours before and these were the images which kept jumping into my mind which had raised the concerns of a very gentle and loving health visitor. Feeling odd after writing about finding out I was pregnant and letting my mind explore a calm and factual way of storytelling wasn’t part of the deal.
Now I just feel jumpy and exhausted and a little frightened.
I need to write this, but as I become more ingrained in the story, I’m worried I might trigger myself into oblivion.