I sat around today. Didn't actually do anything particularly constructive or useful. It was nice actually and I find it odd how some days, even in my long passed months of illness and inactivity, I can still find it nice to have a day of just sitting about doing nothing and not worrying about anything. Not really true, I worried about a lot of things.
I think it's in a woman's nature to worry. I've met quite a few carefree men in my life, but I don't think I've ever met a woman with the same amount of carefree attitude. Maybe men hide it better?
When my panic attacks started over two years ago, what frustrated me the most about them is I had no idea what on earth caused them. I'm always so obsessive about my own behavior, turning things over in my head again and again until I can get to the root of why I've done something. These jolts of panic and anxiety seemingly came out of nowhere. Yes, they started after a major change in my life. But there was something deeper. There was a larger reason why that devastating disappointment manifested itself like this. And I couldn't put my finger on it. I still can't. I only see pieces of the puzzle. It's like putting together a jigsaw puzzle when you don't have all the pieces and no idea what the damned thing look like to begin with.
It all circles itself back to death. It's what my panic and anxiety centers on. Who isn't nervous at the thought of their own demise? Who isn't afraid of what lays beyond? It's hard to explain to therapists what goes on in my head especially when I think it's so absurd myself. You'd think knowing how absurd it is would make it easier. It doesn't. It makes me feel weak. It's hard to explain to them that it isn't that I'm afraid of being injured or getting sick. It isn't that I'm afraid of growing old and senile. I merely picture myself at the precise moment of death and experience sheer panic, terror, and the completely absurd desire to flee.
I have largely suppressed and controlled these moments with either sheer will or psychotropic medications. Two years have gone by and still I can't seem to explain to myself where this is coming from. And I feel like I'm no more in control of it than I was two years ago. In fact, I often feel like I'm coming more and more unhinged probably because I've come off of the anti-anxiety/depression medication. And my current therapist's solution seems to only be medication.
I'm reluctant to switch therapists and downgrade, so to speak, from a nurse practitioner to a social worker or psychologist because the RNP can write prescriptions. I still do require the occasional as needed tranquilizer and sleeping pill. It's extremely convenient, not to mention cheaper, to only see one person. It's also hard to find a good therapist that won't let you just sit there and babble but someone who can actually guide things and help you grow and actually get something out of it. And it can take a while, sometimes months, before you realize you're seeing a therapist that isn't helping you.