You know when everything is going 'too' well. Suspiciously too well, to the point where you're questioning why some sort of tragedy hasn't happened yet. Why haven't I got hit by a car yet after crossing the street while the signal was on? Why haven't I been fired from my job that I'm always on time to? Why is my life going so well...until one day it suddenly takes a turn - for no apparent reason at all.
Then you start to wonder, why is everything going so wrong? Why do I feel this way? Why do I feel like my life is about to end & I have yet to tell anyone how much I loved them or write my will with only twelve dollars in my bank account; but your life isn't a bad one. Your brain just makes you think that it is because the war has only begun.
The war with your brain.
"Stella.. Stella are you okay?"
"Stella, please say something.."
My vision becomes clear, my mind isn't somewhere else & reality has struck back in, "Yes."
My best friend, she's here & I'm okay. What just happened?
"Are you sure you're okay? I felt like I was never going to get a response from you. That's not like you at all, what happened?" Gwen kneels beside me. I realize I'm lying on the floor, sweat droplets run down my forehead & my heart rate slowly starts going down.
"I don't know," I'm being honest, I have absolutely no idea what just happened. One second I'm waking up for work, the next moment I become pale, I feel cold & my heart rate skyrockets going what feels like a hundred miles an hour. Suddenly my life flashes before my eyes & I'm on the floor. How long have I been down here?
"I want to say about 10 minutes." not realizing I was thinking aloud, Gwen answers me. "Do I need to call an ambulance? Let me go get you some water."
"I'm okay," I am finally able to speak, "I was just trying to go about my day & I just had some sort of abnormal feeling. I might have just gotten up too fast. I'm fine, I promise- you don't need to call anyone."
"Well whatever that was, it'll be okay Stella."
That's where it all began. A normal day, what was supposed to be another normal routine, turned into my biggest nightmare. The day I didn't realize from that point on I wouldn't be myself anymore.
...
"Come on, you haven't gone anywhere in months," Gwen has been trying to convince to come out with her & her beau she swears she's going to marry within the next year, "Please...I miss us going out."
"Getting drunk at Hendy's sitting at the bar doesn't really sound like something I'm interested in anymore Gwen," I continue walking down the path to our apartment. It's year two living with my best friend in our dream city of Chicago. Working at my dream job at the Chicago Tribune, & Gwen interning at one of Chicago's biggest fashion corporations. We are living the dream, so it seems in writing.
"I know, but maybe coming out & at least enjoying a few hours away from your computer screen will do you some good," she latches on to my arm as we continue to walk, "don't make me have to buy you those blue light glasses. I really don't want to do that, I think you definitely need to go out more."
"You just want me to go so I can hang out with the most infamous Guillermo," I laugh, mocking his name with a Spanish accent. Making our way up to our apartment, I pull out the keys & unlock the door. Somehow we managed to land a cute apartment just outside of Buffalo Grove. Something very chic with a modern twist.
"Yes & no," she plops down on our couch, "you've only hung-out with him a handful of times & if I'm going to marry this guy next year, it would be really nice if my future maid of honor & future potential fiancé got along."
"Gwen, you've been dating him for a year," I open up the fridge to get started on a light dinner for the both of us. Gwen isn't much of a cook so I have to keep her alive somehow, & keep the money in her pockets to refrain her from ordering out all the time.
"Yes, but it's been brought up several times in conversation," she gloats, "also, Kim told me she saw him walking into a Tiffany's last week."
"Wow Tiffany's," I roll my eyes, "aren't you just one lucky girl."
"Why can't you be happy for me?" she groans, making her way up to our counter. She pops a grape tomato in her mouth & sits on the stool.
"I am," continuing to chop the vegetables for our half assed greek salad, "I want more than anything to see you happy. You're my best friend, but just don't rush into anything such as marriage."
"You're jealous," she runs two fingers up my arm & I move in defense, "but thank you for your concern. I'm gonna shower while you finish up our feast!"
She runs away, disappearing into her room before I can even get a word in. The moment she leaves, I can sense that horrendous feeling coming. I take a seat as I try to let it pass.
My heart rate begins to rise, my palms grow more & more moist, I feel lightheaded. I'm scared, every single time, but I know it will eventually pass. This one doesn't seem as bad as most times. All I know is I need to make sure it passes before Gwen comes back. I have a good thirty minutes at most. Ever since that first time, I never allowed her to see me this way, the feeling of pity & also the feeling of someone not fully understanding the way I felt was worse than the moment itself. It may sound foolish of me, but for some reason I would rather face this alone than try to get anyone to understand.
No matter how much research I do, every episode is different but similar at the same time. Some days I feel bits of anxiousness, other days it's complete horror. I've managed to hide those episodes well, even when I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I guess you can say I've chosen to self diagnose myself. I always get told not to google my symptoms, as they aren't as accurate as the advice from someone with a phd, but if the information is there, why isn't it valid?
Practicing breathing exercises has helped calm my heart rate & the light headedness, but it doesn't take away the fear that I experience each time. The impending doom, the feeling that this could be it. I don't wish this upon anyone, not even my worst enemy, if I had one.
I managed to calm down. I take a glass from the cupboard & fill it to the brim with water, swallowing every drop as if I've been dehydrated for months. The struggle of bringing myself to talk about this with someone is something I think about often. I want to ask for help but what would that make me? I feel ashamed for not being able to control my emotions. I feel ashamed for rejecting invitations. I wish I had FOMO (fear of missing out), but missing any event & staying home sounds way better than being swarmed by bodies in a bar, or whatever Gwen is into.
I continue with dinner, plating it & setting the table. I don't bother waiting & dig right in. All I can think about is going straight to bed. Maybe finish up one of my articles, but the comfort of my bed sounds good right about now. The tightness of my chest is still there & it's probably the tears I'm trying to hold back.
"You're eating without me?" Gwen walks back in & sits with me at the table, "everything alright?"
"Yeah, I'm just really tired," I lie, "I have a busy day tomorrow & I need to finish this weeks article on the art festival next weekend."
"How do you write an article about a festival that hasn't happened yet?" she takes a bite out of her salad, then another, then another. She has such a fast metabolism, I'm very jealous. I saw her eat a whole burger meal & lose weight instead of gain any.
"I get a list of all the events happening & I kind of just roll with it, then I write about it afterwards & how it went." Getting up from the table, I walk to the sink to wash my bowl, "& somehow, I'm one of the top writers for the Tribune."
"That's going to be hard for you," mouthful of food, "how are you going to write about a festival afterwards? Looks like you're going to have to go."
Sometimes the things Gwen says ultimately trigger an attack. She was right though, I am going to have to attend in order to write about it. Maybe I can send her & she can tell me all about it?
"I'm not going to go & tell you all about it just so you can write the article," there I go thinking out loud again. "That means you have to come. I'll let it slide again this weekend, but next weekend for sure, you're going. We're all going. If it makes you feel better, I'll call up the girls & it'll be a girls night. Maybe it'll make the event more memorable."
It's definitely not going to make anything more memorable. I just hope I'm not too overwhelmed I won't be able to control it. I always thought working at Chicago Tribune, I'd be coup'd up at my desk writing articles with bulleted lists my boss gave me about social media inquiries, never having to go out. I should just quit my job; I never thought I'd have to leave the comfort of my desk to write these articles. Maybe I should consider being a social media journalist.