"Beyond Panic. Past Fear. To Unutterable Terror"

 

“Beyond Panic.  Past Fear.  To Unutterable Terror”

 

 

03/13/14

 

 

As always, to my dearest friends, and ever-constant and loyal readers,

 

 

(I must first make the disclaimer that I am not a therapist, nor am I licensed; so that anything I might say is the result of my own opinions, and my own experiences)

 

 

For those of you who suffer (as do I) from frequent moderate to severe panic attacks, I hardly need tell you just how debilitating, and utterly horrible they can be.

 

 

But for those of you who do not have panic attacks, especially to those family members and friends of someone who does have them, I would ask that you kindly take a moment or two to imagine.

 

I would ask—please—that you sit quietly, eyes closed, and take perhaps five minutes or so to try to imagine your worst panic experience.

 

It can be the recollection of a serious illness, a most recent might mare that seemed to go on and on; it maybe a latent childhood trauma, or even a marked fear of heights, closed-in places, spiders or snakes.

 

Try to imagine how you felt then, and how you feel now.

 

My guess is that it will be nearly impossible to summon up and to sustain these horrifying events.

 

Why?  Because—in general—the body and the mind have remarkable self-defense mechanisms that help to cope during that time of terror.  And, time is also an important factor.

 

Your illness—however severe will usually—in time result in complete wellness.

That nightmare that you found so unsettling will fade away to nothingness during the day’s onslaught of stimuli as you go to work, school, or go about the various tasks necessary in daily life; the car, groceries, meal preparation, and so on.

That seemingly awful childhood memory is usually so completely repressed, that only medication, and hypnotic regression therapy will touch them; and then, the information is often illusory, wrong, and certainly, is unreliable.

Phobias, such as fear of heights, and of closed-in places are overcome by stating out of the basement, of simply taking the stairs.

The dreadful fear of snakes, as an example, are most successfully dealt with by complete avoidance, which these days, is easy enough to do.

 

There are—in addition—at least two reasons why panic attacks are so difficult to understand, or to tolerate.

 

 

The first is the fault of the English language.

 

We may—perhaps have upwards of a hundred, different terms, names, phrases and slang to describe the genitalia.

However, we use the word ‘panic’ to describe that moment of anxiety when you cannot recall where you last left your car keys, all the way to the other end of the spectrum to try to label, and understand those unpredictable, harrowing, and terrifying episodes that lead the individual to think that they are dying.

 

Secondly, unless you happen to be in a crowded theater, and suddenly shots are heard, and at that moment everyone is fearful and afraid, even that anxiety will soon fade.

 

Panic attacks are a singular affliction; the person who suffers from them suffers alone, quite without any measureable way to quantify and make meaning of the attack,

In fact, until accurately diagnosed, the sufferer themselves may have no idea what is going on; only that they are desperately afraid, and paralyzed by fear for their very lives.

 

Panic attacks sometimes begin with a disruptive, anxious, or troubled thought that has no basis or reason in reality.

Swiftly, like some horrid, oily, black tide it rises until the mind and body can hold no more.

You are afraid.  Afraid.  And often don’t know why.  Frequently, there is no ‘why’.

As the panic attack worsens, you may be soaked in sweat; your heart is pounding until you feel as if it will suddenly burst form the chest walls.

There may be migraine, or a complete dullness of thought.

You want to scream, but can’t.  You can’t remain still, and yet you do not want to move, for fear of making the panic worse.

It is a spontaneous terror the kind of which you have NEVER experienced before.

When it is at its worst, you may even feel as if you are dying.

 

This is what brings so many panic sufferers to hospital emergency rooms; the threat of heart attack.

 

After a number of these flights from panic, in finding nothing exceptionally, physically wrong, is it then—perhaps—suggested that the individual may in fact have acute G.A.D. (Generalized Panic Disorder), and most severe panic attacks.

 

Once successfully diagnosed, the sufferer can being a combination of therapies, counselling, and possibly medication to help reduce the severity of the attacks, and hopefully return the sufferer to some kind of ability to function on a daily basis.

 

But this process is long, and the road to wellness twisted, as sometimes medication, after medication must be tried for their efficacy.  And therapeutic counseling once started must continued to have any benefit.

 

 

And still, there is no guarantee that the anxiety and the panic attacks will end completely; only that they be reduced in severity and frequency.  And thus allow the panic sufferer to better manage their lives.

 

About two years or so ago, I had spent at least two months of a summer battling double pneumonia. I was given double courses of the only, two antibiotic that will now work for me, and still, I was not well.

At nearly the end of my third course of antibiotics, my condition seemed to worsen.

I felt so ill that I could not move, and could hardly open my eyes.  It was to unutterable agony that I began to have panic attacks.

And while I was able to reason that much of my panic was irrational, still, I became so caught up in its relentless grip, that I became terrified.

It was a Sunday, early evening.  In desperation I telephoned my therapist AND my pain management doctor, neither of whom would return my calls.

I then began to telephone my medical Primary’s on-call; and this initiated a kind of back and forth, “We don’t really know what to tell you, but…if you continue to feel worse, go to the emergency room.”

 

Now please do not mistake me, I fully understand the necessity and purpose of hospitals; I still hate them.  I hate having to go to one. And I think that I loathe the emergency room worst.

 

Chairs packs one almost upon the next; all occupied by sick people with a variety of contagious illnesses.

Uncovered sneezing and coughing bathed the room in viruses and germs. 

There were sick babies who cried and cried.

There were young children with green, snotty noses, who ran about unsupervised by their parents.

The chairs were dirty. The doors handles were slimy with germs.  And even the triage nurse who evaluated each patient was sick.  In fact, in my experience, I have never seen a triage nurse who wasn’t sick.

 

Finally, I was shown to an exam cubicle, where began test after test, after scan, after x-ay, after lab work.

I thought and believed that they would finally admit me to the hospital for the pneumonia at least.

 

But as the results began to pour in, they showed that—in fact—there was nothing wrong with me.

I was astounded as for the first time, my mind and body betrayed me, and had—in fact—completely lied to me!

I had no traces of pneumonia.  Every test was normal.

To calm me down, I think I was given a pain pill, and a mild tranquilizer.

And at 5:30 that next morning, still in my pajamas, I arrived home to a silent and dark house.

I immediately dosed-up, patted Daisy, and went to be, completely flabbergasted.

All I accomplished was to run-up a huge emergency room bill that I am still making payments on.

 

 

When I next saw my therapist, he changed my Clonopin to Ativan.  My pain doctor raised my pain medication.

 

While I still have moderate to moderately severe panic attacks, the medication does seems to act as a kind of buffer.

 

 

My dearest friends, I rely so much upon your comments as they do give me a voice, and sense of purpose.

And…if I have managed to be of at least some, small help, that makes my heart happy.

So, I hope that you will comment, below. Please add your experiences and your thoughts.

 

 

I wish for you no pain, or much lessoned pain.  I wish for you a sense of calmness, or purpose, and of happiness.

I wish you be full-surrounded by those who love you, and who truly care and understand!

And I wish for you peaceable, pleasant days, and balmy nights free from nightmare or distress; watched over—as always—by sweet angels.

 

 

Please know that I do think of you so very, very often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’

 

“Beyond Panic.  Past Fear.  To Unutterable Terror”

 

 

03/13/14

 

 

As always, to my dearest friends, and ever-constant and loyal readers,

 

 

(I must first make the disclaimer that I am not a therapist, nor am I licensed; so that anything I might say is the result of my own opinions, and my own experiences)

 

 

For those of you who suffer (as do I) from frequent moderate to severe panic attacks, I hardly need tell you just how debilitating, and utterly horrible they can be.

 

 

But for those of you who do not have panic attacks, especially to those family members and friends of someone who does have them, I would ask that you kindly take a moment or two to imagine.

 

I would ask—please—that you sit quietly, eyes closed, and take perhaps five minutes or so to try to imagine your worst panic experience.

 

It can be the recollection of a serious illness, a most recent might mare that seemed to go on and on; it maybe a latent childhood trauma, or even a marked fear of heights, closed-in places, spiders or snakes.

 

Try to imagine how you felt then, and how you feel now.

 

My guess is that it will be nearly impossible to summon up and to sustain these horrifying events.

 

Why?  Because—in general—the body and the mind have remarkable self-defense mechanisms that help to cope during that time of terror.  And, time is also an important factor.

 

Your illness—however severe will usually—in time result in complete wellness.

That nightmare that you found so unsettling will fade away to nothingness during the day’s onslaught of stimuli as you go to work, school, or go about the various tasks necessary in daily life; the car, groceries, meal preparation, and so on.

That seemingly awful childhood memory is usually so completely repressed, that only medication, and hypnotic regression therapy will touch them; and then, the information is often illusory, wrong, and certainly, is unreliable.

Phobias, such as fear of heights, and of closed-in places are overcome by stating out of the basement, of simply taking the stairs.

The dreadful fear of snakes, as an example, are most successfully dealt with by complete avoidance, which these days, is easy enough to do.

 

There are—in addition—at least two reasons why panic attacks are so difficult to understand, or to tolerate.

 

 

The first is the fault of the English language.

 

We may—perhaps have upwards of a hundred, different terms, names, phrases and slang to describe the genitalia.

However, we use the word ‘panic’ to describe that moment of anxiety when you cannot recall where you last left your car keys, all the way to the other end of the spectrum to try to label, and understand those unpredictable, harrowing, and terrifying episodes that lead the individual to think that they are dying.

 

Secondly, unless you happen to be in a crowded theater, and suddenly shots are heard, and at that moment everyone is fearful and afraid, even that anxiety will soon fade.

 

Panic attacks are a singular affliction; the person who suffers from them suffers alone, quite without any measureable way to quantify and make meaning of the attack,

In fact, until accurately diagnosed, the sufferer themselves may have no idea what is going on; only that they are desperately afraid, and paralyzed by fear for their very lives.

 

Panic attacks sometimes begin with a disruptive, anxious, or troubled thought that has no basis or reason in reality.

Swiftly, like some horrid, oily, black tide it rises until the mind and body can hold no more.

You are afraid.  Afraid.  And often don’t know why.  Frequently, there is no ‘why’.

As the panic attack worsens, you may be soaked in sweat; your heart is pounding until you feel as if it will suddenly burst form the chest walls.

There may be migraine, or a complete dullness of thought.

You want to scream, but can’t.  You can’t remain still, and yet you do not want to move, for fear of making the panic worse.

It is a spontaneous terror the kind of which you have NEVER experienced before.

When it is at its worst, you may even feel as if you are dying.

 

This is what brings so many panic sufferers to hospital emergency rooms; the threat of heart attack.

 

After a number of these flights from panic, in finding nothing exceptionally, physically wrong, is it then—perhaps—suggested that the individual may in fact have acute G.A.D. (Generalized Panic Disorder), and most severe panic attacks.

 

Once successfully diagnosed, the sufferer can being a combination of therapies, counselling, and possibly medication to help reduce the severity of the attacks, and hopefully return the sufferer to some kind of ability to function on a daily basis.

 

But this process is long, and the road to wellness twisted, as sometimes medication, after medication must be tried for their efficacy.  And therapeutic counseling once started must continued to have any benefit.

 

 

And still, there is no guarantee that the anxiety and the panic attacks will end completely; only that they be reduced in severity and frequency.  And thus allow the panic sufferer to better manage their lives.

 

About two years or so ago, I had spent at least two months of a summer battling double pneumonia. I was given double courses of the only, two antibiotic that will now work for me, and still, I was not well.

At nearly the end of my third course of antibiotics, my condition seemed to worsen.

I felt so ill that I could not move, and could hardly open my eyes.  It was to unutterable agony that I began to have panic attacks.

And while I was able to reason that much of my panic was irrational, still, I became so caught up in its relentless grip, that I became terrified.

It was a Sunday, early evening.  In desperation I telephoned my therapist AND my pain management doctor, neither of whom would return my calls.

I then began to telephone my medical Primary’s on-call; and this initiated a kind of back and forth, “We don’t really know what to tell you, but…if you continue to feel worse, go to the emergency room.”

 

Now please do not mistake me, I fully understand the necessity and purpose of hospitals; I still hate them.  I hate having to go to one. And I think that I loathe the emergency room worst.

 

Chairs packs one almost upon the next; all occupied by sick people with a variety of contagious illnesses.

Uncovered sneezing and coughing bathed the room in viruses and germs. 

There were sick babies who cried and cried.

There were young children with green, snotty noses, who ran about unsupervised by their parents.

The chairs were dirty. The doors handles were slimy with germs.  And even the triage nurse who evaluated each patient was sick.  In fact, in my experience, I have never seen a triage nurse who wasn’t sick.

 

Finally, I was shown to an exam cubicle, where began test after test, after scan, after x-ay, after lab work.

I thought and believed that they would finally admit me to the hospital for the pneumonia at least.

 

But as the results began to pour in, they showed that—in fact—there was nothing wrong with me.

I was astounded as for the first time, my mind and body betrayed me, and had—in fact—completely lied to me!

I had no traces of pneumonia.  Every test was normal.

To calm me down, I think I was given a pain pill, and a mild tranquilizer.

And at 5:30 that next morning, still in my pajamas, I arrived home to a silent and dark house.

I immediately dosed-up, patted Daisy, and went to be, completely flabbergasted.

All I accomplished was to run-up a huge emergency room bill that I am still making payments on.

 

 

When I next saw my therapist, he changed my Clonopin to Ativan.  My pain doctor raised my pain medication.

 

While I still have moderate to moderately severe panic attacks, the medication does seems to act as a kind of buffer.

 

 

My dearest friends, I rely so much upon your comments as they do give me a voice, and sense of purpose.

And…if I have managed to be of at least some, small help, that makes my heart happy.

So, I hope that you will comment, below. Please add your experiences and your thoughts.

 

 

I wish for you no pain, or much lessoned pain.  I wish for you a sense of calmness, or purpose, and of happiness.

I wish you be full-surrounded by those who love you, and who truly care and understand!

And I wish for you peaceable, pleasant days, and balmy nights free from nightmare or distress; watched over—as always—by sweet angels.

 

 

Please know that I do think of you so very, very often, and that I love you dearly!

 

 

‘Zahc’/Charles