call me Chernobyl...
Two Sunday's ago, I found myself lying in bed fully clothed and staring at the bedroom door. I told myself that I was tired, that I had a late night and a sleep in, which always messes with head.
What was actually going on was a meltdown that's been brewing and building for close to a year.
I was in bed probably four or five hours before my wife came to check on me. She thought that same as me, that I'd been sleeping off the head drama. She wasn't expecting to find me fully clothed, wrapped in my blanket, and staring intently at the wall.
I'd wanted to come down before then and get help, but the longer I stayed there the more locked in I felt. I could feel the explosion building, like a grenade about to blow. I'd begun to tell the time by the sounds of the TV downstairs. Another episode down, another half hour gone. I gave up after five episodes; it was becoming obvious that I was staying put. Still, I thought I was ok. Having a down afternoon. I'd bear it out with some rest and some alone time.
We've been doing something I saw on a Brené Brown video recently where we check in with each other and give a score between 1 and 10 with how we're feeling at that moment. When she found me and asked, I replied honestly with a 1.
And that's when I cracked.
First, the tears. Silently, then uncontrollable sobs. When I experience extreme and intense emotions, I tend to fall into a panic attack. I think it's out of fear of losing control of myself, or needing to hold it all in and failing to do so. So, next came the hyperventilating.
Then came the rage.
There's only been maybe three times in my life I can count rage, real rage, as a symptom of my meltdown. This was one of them.
I was angry at myself for losing control. For not keeping it all in. I was angry that I couldn't control my breathing, that I couldn't control my head. That I let myself get this way. That I utterly failed.
I screamed, low and guttural, kicking the blanket off me and launching myself upright. Fortunately, that's all I did, managing to keep enough control and self-awareness to freeze and try deep breathing. Of course, when the rage subsides, all I'm left with is my breakdown, and it's right back to panic attacks.
This time however I'm armed with enough adrenaline to provoke some lucidity. I've been here before, I reason, and I've got out of it before. In between breaths, I tell my wife to get a paper bag, only she didn't hear 'paper', only 'bag, and bought my a Bag for Life shopping bag from downstairs.
And that is how my wife made me laugh my way out of a panic attack.
As breakdowns go, that was my worst for years in terms of intensity. A couple of days later, after the dust had truly settled, she asked me what caused it all. She wanted to help, and felt alone on her end with no direction or guide to work with. I started tracing it back.
There was some house maintenance tasks the day before, and that's an area that continues to stress me out as it's an area I know next to nothing on. It also never fails to depress me, a reminder that I never had that stereotypical father figure in my life to guide me in the more practical areas like DIY.
Then there was the day before that, my regular day in the office. I was half hour late after missing the bus. My fault; I procrastinated too much before getting ready. That was followed by a day of stress, frustration, and disappointment, so that couldn't have helped.
Then there was that whole week, when I thought about it. With redundancies going on across the business, it was having a toll on QA and process following, which usually leaves my team in the shit. More notches for the post.
Then I just kept going. Feeling more and more chaotic and on edge over the Summer, both our jobs being in limbo, interest rates looking worse and worse. Barely posting here, losing interest and focus on my hobbies. Diet became less of a thing. I've struggled to reach out to people for months, my social tree practically ground down into the soil. Struggling with basic budgeting almost all year, a first for me, and something I put down to being 'human'. On and on I went, right the way back to when I adjusted my meds down.
I called my GP the next day to reverse it.
I'm still in that grey area where the upper dose isn't quite kicking in, but I'm more stable. Still kicking myself for ignoring the warning signs, but I'll get over that quick enough. Mostly, I'm glad to have come through this all relatively unscathed, with no damage done to myself or anyone else. Just worries, and we can handle those.
And excitement. Odd, I know, but now I've gotten the worst out of the way, I'm left with an opportunity for change. A soft reboot of my life. A chance to rethink the way I've been doing things, go back to basics and come up with a way forwards.
This is just yet another brick wall, another chance for me to show how badly I want to stay here. To be better for myself, for those around me, and for those not yet in my orbit. I abhor the cliché often said around times like these: you've hit rock bottom, there's no way to go but up now, etc. I could be a lot worse, in a lot of different ways. I'm choosing not to, and while that's not as powerful as a drug, or therapy, or a solid self-care regimen, it is a solid foundation to build on.
And I will take it. I'll take whatever I can.
I'm going to get better. For my wife. For my dog.
For me.