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While the harlots of my perils scream

[personal ramblings with no real point follow] I need a calming influence. The sound of waves crashing against the shore, perhaps, backed with the soothing melody of Zamfir's flute or whatever that is he plays. Maybe a field of clovers and daisies in which to lay down and stare at the sky, looking for ice cream cones in the clouds while James Earl Jones reads aloud from a book of sonnets as Stephen Green slowly... Did I say that out loud? Sorry. It's not been a great day here at chez ASV. I experienced my first panic attack in over two years and my skin is warm and tingling, signifying another one in the works. Ah, yes. The first thing you will say is: this election is to blame! Well, no. Not so much. It's more like a amalgamation of not enough hours in the day, not enough sleep in the night, not enough money in the checking account, not enough patience to deal with certain people; too many things on my plate, too many things left undone around the house, too many afternoons and evenings being the sole parent in the car pool; worrying about my kids worrying about friends, relationships, college applications and basic algebra; worrying about my husband worrying about money, the lawn, his mother, his career, and fretting about everything I can't control but wish I could, including the stupidity of mankind and bad drivers - who probably can be controlled with a gun, but that really wouldn't make life any better for me in the long run, would it? I haven't had a day like this since I went off the meds and if I only get one of these every couple of months, I'll live with the trade off of not choking down brain altering chemicals every day. I bet that's the last time you ask "how are you doing?" and really mean it. Anyone have James Earl Jones's phone number? So, as I'm looking for some kind of calm to keep the shortness of breaths to a minimum, Smashing Pumpkins' Mayonaise comes on the Launchcast radio and all is right with the world. Deep breaths. None of the above things are insurmountable.


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How 'bout a little virtual Zen meditation?

You can send any of the inevitable morons without a sense of humor and a stick up their ass about 'What Zen Really Truly Is You Spiritually Bereft Bozos' who'll show up any minute right to me. I'll smack 'em with a clue-by-four.

You too? I'm walking around in a Xanax induced haze right now trying to keep from drooling.

I'm down to 2.5mg a day of the Paxil. I plan on next week starting to try to cut that in half.

I want to get to a point where the amount I put into my system isn't enough to work worth a damn but enough to kill the 'zaps'.

Best if luck. I feel your pain, and quite literally.

Mozart always works for me. Probably not quite your kind of music, but that's my suggestion!

Michele, if it's any comfort, just remember all of us out here who have never met you but have grown to really love you (and a select few of us who connect that sentiment to a strong sexual attraction as well {drool}. Hope you get smoothed back out again soon.
My wife experienced anxiety attacks for years until her doctor prescribed Buspar, which has worked miracles. I told her that if I ever met the pharmacologist who developed Buspar I would kiss him on the mouth because I am so grateful - he's made a HUGE difference in my life as well! I was one of those husbands who had a little difficulty knowing how to deal with a spouse's anxiety attacks (having never experienced them myself) but I worked at it. The Buspar has smoothed most of that out for her.
Anyway, I truly hope the balance comes back soon. Being agnostic I don't pray, so I'll be sending good vibes in your direction (it's the closest I get to praying).
Love at ya.

There's bound to be some downside to all the good aspects of your passion and intensity, Michele. It sounds like you have it pretty well under control - I definitely agree that you're far better off avoiding medication if at ALL possible.

I would recommend listening to Bonnie Raitt. That silky-sexy voice and slide guitar of hers are really hard to resist, regardless of one's level of agitation. ;-)

"Michele, if it's any comfort, just remember all of us out here who have never met you but have grown to really love you (and a select few of us who connect that sentiment to a strong sexual attraction..."

Wow, aren't we mighty scary this morning. Michele, you might want to make a special note of Flamen's IP, sounds like a right loon.

In the meantime, I recommend the following therapy:
Step one: Rage. Go chop some wood, dig a great big hole, trap shoot the china, get in a pillow fight, whatever you need to do to physically manifest the frustration and relieve the stress. Do this until you get tired, it'll take at the very most an hour. If you're not sweating and breathing hard by then, you're not in touch with your inner Hulk. But I know you have no problem with that.

Step 2: Norming. Now that you're all tired, address the problems, prioritize them, and start thinking of solutions. Solutions DO include throwing blockheads in the river.

Step 3: Relaxation. Even if you haven't solved all your problems right away, you do have a list and a plan of action now. So don't sweat it; you've overcome a lot in just the past few hours with this three step program. Go have yourself some secks or something, you deserve a reward.

I have suggested this before. A bag of nails, a hammer and a board. It works. Ever seen an anxious carpenter?

No need to worry Shank - I'm not a stalker or a weirdo (well, maybe a little bit of a weirdo) - merely a guy who was taken by that slinky, sexy pic of Michele that was posted a while back. I'm just a healthy, sex addicted male with good taste. It's nothing that my wife doesn't know already know (and, besides, she's not the kind of wife of goes into conniptions at the very thought that I find other women sexy or attractive). Beyond that, I don't even know Michele; but what I do know about her I find incredibly attractive. Women who think (or write) like her are very rare. Those are extremely sexy qualities in my book. Consider that I might have said that in jest, and I don't believe for a moment that Michele considers me any type of weirdo stalker or threat. So, no - I don't really have a strong sexual attraction toward her per se, but boy, I could sure develop one given the chance. Calm down. Criminy.

get better soon

I hope you're feeling better. Hey, the Jets are awesome. I wanted them to beat New England, but maybe they will in December when they play them at home.

Get some rest.

yeah, panic attacks suck. but you've gotten to that great point where you know what it is, how awful it makes you feel, and that it doesn't mean you're insane or dying.

they suck, but they don't matter. sleep really really helps, though. sleeeep. sleeeep. and listening to NIN and holding teddy bears and wearing socks on your hands and having a puppet show.

so you feel like you're going mad. so you feel yourself getting zoomy and hot and like you can't see and can't breathe. eh, so what. it just sucks, and it's finite.

but the sock puppet show could live forever.

Still chugging along on 450 mg per day of Wellbutrin, for most of the same reasons you mentioned, Michele. For me, the challenges and stresses of my life push me toward depression rather than anxiety. But I'm getting better.

Hope you are too.