a love letter to panic

Dear PANIC,

Six weeks of panic, attacking the moment my head hits the pillow, robbing me of rest with skewed accounts of every hurtful situation I feel responsible for replayed until the next one enters on its own nauseating loop: every wrong choice, every task left unfinished or screwed up – Airstream, writing, friendships all the way back to high school, parenting, art projects, dog care, gardening, cooking, work, marriage, love letters, trip planning, finances.  Trapped, that’s what panic is, a feeling of having trapped myself in thousands of poor decisiones, betrayed trust, uncomfortable places.  Panic is knowing that if I do not right my way, I will end up in a cheap motel with dirty carpeting, cigarette-reeking curtains and slick bedspread.  It is being in a dentist chair with my mouth propped open and saliva choking me, my hands not able to pull the instruments away.  It’s the night terrors that I had as a kid, running from monsters, neither asleep nor awake.

I know the turnarounds for panic:  self-compassion, forgiveness, right-sizing, grounding, exercise, nature, talking with a friend, letting go, humor, gratitude.  The antidote for me right now is rest: sleep, real sleep, and a break from the cauldron of my brain.  Yet sleep eludes me, my heart thumping in my chest so loud I am sure I can hear it.

Alright then, panic, what can I choose to do with you?  No clue.  No damn clue.  At least I realize that I recognize what is happening.  That’s a start.  Hopefully I can also recognize the absurdity of it, of my brain fabricating stories faster than I can debunk them.  Maybe I invite you in. C’mon panic, let’s go a few rounds. 

And the love part?  It has taken me two days to come up with this:  I love that panic reminds me that there is a different way.  Even if I cannot get back there yet, I have been in that panic-free place.  It exists.  It lives inside of me, if only I can untrap it.