Panic - Part IV

Wednesday


I worked from home, not really allowing myself to be dragged into any of the office fires or complex issues. I wanted to simply remain distant and non-absorbed. I wanted to feel free to stop and go as I please and not be dictated by meeting, appointments, and words. I wanted to fly above it all.



I also decided to take control of my life and let the Panic run its course, but without allowing it to change me. So, I called insurance company and filed a short-term disability claim. I then calmly informed my management of my decisions and discovered that for once in my life I did not give a damn about work. I only cared about what was truly important – the loved ones. I did not care whether I would have gainful employment tomorrow. I only cared about whether I would be sick forever and that was not an option. Simply not. The only option was to get better. I only had to work the next few days and get my workload transferred. I need to take care of my affairs at work in order to being taking care of my self. The very last leap to begin my journey back to ‘normal’. Yes, I was ready to take it.


In the evening I ventured to the very first therapy session with Dr. Katherine. Her office was about ½ hour from the house and the drive gave me the much needed snooze time. We parked near an old house in Webster Groves . I knew that the rooms would be small and stale, the stairs steep and screeching, the ceiling low and cracked. The house was quiet, with nothing besides a bell notifying that visitors have arrived. It as close to a invisible medium, filled with sparkles of pure hope and care. I felt calm upon the first step and experienced a serene feeling of relaxation. No one in this abode could hurt me, no one could attack me, and no one could point fingers and call me ‘broken’. In this house it would not be ‘all in your head’. In this house it would be OK to cry and feel lost. In this house it would be OK to release and let the light in.



Dr. Katherine appeared in a hallway quietly, approaching, almost gliding, with long, gray hair and soft, small face. It was full of little wrinkles, formed at the times of smile and compassion. Her voice flowed, filling the air with comfort and warmth. That accent took me back to the stories of Sherlock Holmes that I used to read back in the days, waiting for school to start. Her eyes were blue, like the sea before the storm. Lean and graceful, she almost looked like a fairy, inviting you to the magical land of hope. I followed her, clutching to Christian’s hand and wanting nothing more then to feel some form of relief. Dr. Katherine began by assuring me that everything will be OK, things will get better, and one day we will look back and laugh at the terrible monster that now occupied my body. I wanted to believe her. She was telling the truth! She was the messenger of hope.



She asked me to tell her what happened that led us to this moment. I started to re-tell the events of the weekend…and could not stop the flow of warm, salty tears into my mouth. My body began to shake. I grabbed Christian and pulled him closer, hiding my face inside his warm chest, wanting to escape and forget. I could not say another word. It was take me over the ledge…I would not come back. ‘Please stop!’, my mind was shouting. ‘Don’t talk about that! Why are you making me hurt all over again? You were supposed to help!!!!’



I fell into a daze, hiding my face and body inside Christian’s embrace, not listening to what he was saying to Dr. Katherine. I did not want to hear it. I did not want to understand it. I did not want to let it hurt me again. I closed up my mind. After a little while, I was able to breathe again, taking in the sweet air of the room and listening to Dr. Katherine tell me about Panic Attacks, their fateful impact on human psyche, their enormous power to overturn your world. That I knew. That, I felt. That is why I was here, wanting to get help. And, the help was offered, in its beautiful glory, with open hands and heart. I saw the light at the end of the tunnel and her name was ‘Dr. Katherine’. I felt that this person would help me, without stifling my own efforts, yet guiding the lost handful of emotions to their rightful places.



Friday



I finally got an approval from Liberty Mutual to be on Short Term Disability. A bitter relief to know that I now have a right to be sick and not bother with work … and a right to call myself broken, disabled, not fully well to be part of the work world, of the social world, or the world that I used to call my own. That realization hit hard. I did not care to take it any further. My body did not have the juice to simmer in misery of it all. I had just enough strength to know and to act upon my feelings, whatever they may be. I wanted to be in a cocoon, cradled in a warm, soft space, filled with lavender smells of Provence and the humming of Mediterranean outside the window. I wanted to be in paradise, in a Neverland, a land so far away. I wanted to escape the path to recovery. It was not going to be easy. On some level I compared the journey ahead to a careful crawl in a mine-field, porous land filled with sharp reminders of the past and future moments of turmoil and pain.



That evening I went to see Dr. Susan. My insurance recommended this therapist and I figured that it is not a bad thing to try two different persons. I needed to see which one would truly help me move forward. I came into Dr. Susan’s office when it was already dark outside. It was in a cold office building, with boring décor and heavy furnishings. Nothing in the office spelled warmth. I felt a bit off being in there. It did not feel right. But, I knew, that nothing was understood from the first moment. I had to give it time.



Dr. Susan came out, dressed in purple suit, very professional and sure person, professing an aura of confidence and intelligence. She was firm and polite, but I could not read her. There was a barrier that I was unable to cross. Felt very uncomfortable and sad being inside her office. She did not let Christian come with me, which truly upset the balance even further. I was ready to run out and go back into Christian’s arms. But, something held me back. I had to stay. This was necessary.



Dr. Susan asked me to re-tell the events of the weekend and I, much like with Dr. Katherine, did not do a good job holding back the tears or the panicky feeling of fear and terror that filled every inch of my body. I think it took about fifteen minutes to describe what could have taken three, but to me it felt like the eternity lingering on top of my shoulders. I could not wait to come to the end of the story. Then, let myself hide between the heavy red pillows of the couch and forget where I was. The absence of comfort within the office did not make me feel the same hope that Dr. Katherine provided. But, in some strange way, I thought that the opposite type of therapy, which is cold and clinical, cognitive and almost removed, could provide the outer shell for the warm, cushy, glowing filling that Dr. Katherine would fill. There was a ying and yang of the therapy world in my disposal, ready to help. I felt somewhat comforted by that conclusion and decided to attend session with both Doctors until at least I could begin to feel some form of relief.



And that’s how I discovered the start of the Escape from Panic.



Sabbatical from the world



I began my two months of rest slowly and carefully, taking the time to feel each emotion and nurture its origin and end. I wanted for the first time to take care of myself exclusively and did not allow for needs for others to interfere with this process. I could not risk stretching what little I had left of self-control and inner strength. There was a minute amount of it left and I had to spare every little drop to get better. I wanted for the first time in my life to be cared for and not worry about others. That was not easy to master, as I have always put everyone else’s needs before mine; never thought what Yana would want first. Now, I had to learn. Like a helpless infant left in daycare for the first time and unable to find the comfort of his mom, I too found myself scared and lonely, lost and terrified in a prospect of self indulgence. I had to fend my little island of despair and try to extend its borders far and beyond, obtaining new territories, discovering the ‘New World of Strength’.



Much like a little kid, I could not do it without mom. So, despite of little voice telling me that I had to do this on my own, I asked for mom to come and help me start on the road to recovery. She flew in on Thursday afternoon. I waited at home to see the car pull up, to know that she was only a few yards away. I guess the anticipation gave me the familiar feeling of exhilaration, of something wonderful about to happen. I remember feeling little tingles in my palms, full of sweat and jitters. Knowing that only a few moments from now I will have the protection that I felt from the moment of conception, made the world a little brighter. I knew that help was on the way, the help that only a mom can give.



The next few days were trying. I felt like a robot, doing simple tasks of the day, taking Xanax and Lexapro, experiencing constant anxiety and fear, waiting for another attack to come along. The days felt like infinity. There was no relief in sight and I gave up trying to imagine even the possibility of getting better. With mom being by my side, I did not have to try. I could relax and let the disease take its course and not worry about trying. That was bad and I knew it. But, I just could not care. I was tired. The weight of it all taken its toll and now I had to find the strength to lift it (on my own). This was not going to happen until I am cornered.