Why? Well, it started out like any other day with me getting up, making the bed, and wandering into my bathroom. That's when I looked in the mirror and knew --instantly-- that I was about to have a panic attack. I don't really know what triggered it, but I spent the next 10 minutes lying on the floor with my eyes closed as my heart pounded, my arms transformed into leaden blocks, and sweat trickled down my cheeks and dampened my hair. (Fortunately the cold tile floor had the effect of shocking my system a bit, which made this episode not quite as bad as others I've had.) Then when I got up, I took two steps and had to sit down because I started to black out again. And you can rinse and repeat that scenario for the next half hour, until I finally gave up, dragged my noodle-y limbs back to my bed, and texted Adam to tell him I wasn't feeling well.
And that's when things got better. He didn't come right away, but showed up a little later after he finished a call with his company's CFO. He brought me coffee and Peeps (since he was sure that raw sugar would help) and the remote controls and my laptop and a stuffed animal that calms my nerves. (Yes, I have one.) And then he asked if I needed anything else and to text him if I did. And then I was essentially off-duty all day long trying to recover.
I don't know what causes panic attacks and I hate them, but I'm beyond grateful to have my hunny here to help me when they strike.
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