The Panic Reflex

I hate this feeling. I hate it. There are times, when I'm in the thick of a panic attack, that I feel like I would sell my soul (only slightly used! a bargain at any price!) or perhaps a limb, if only I could extract a guarantee that I'll never feel this way again.

Instead, I've somehow managed to incorporate it into my physical repertoire without needing any kind of trigger any more. It starts with the tightness in my chest, and then a constriction in my throat much like the one you get when you're about to throw up...except I don't feel nauseated at all. My fingers start to tingle, then my feet, then my cheeks, and finally my jaw, which also grows numb. And so here I sit, in full physical panic...

...and there's not a single thing wrong with me.

By that I mean, I'm not worried about anything new. Nothing happened today to spike a panic attack. I'm not worried that I'm having a heart attack, or that I'm going to die, or that I'm going crazy. I know exactly what's going on. I'm sitting here recognizing, expecting, every single symptom. I just can't seem to hit the off button, is all.

Oooh, now my legs are numbing up, too. Maybe I'm pancking about panicking. Probably I am. Except I'm not afraid about what's going to happen; I've been here often enough to know the terrain by heart. I'm just going to have to wait another 15 minutes for the half-dose of Xnax to kick in, and if it doesn't, I'll take the other half. I'm not actually freaked about anything. I just hate feeling like this, is all.

Thursday. I have another psychiatrist appointment on Thursday. I really hope he'll be able to find SOMEthing in his magic bag for me. Because this is just plain DUMB.