They say variety's the spice of life, so the other day just to shake things up a bit and try to break through those brutalist walls of routine and monotony, I thought it would be a good idea to have a panic attack at Walmart.
In hindsight, it was actually a very bad idea. So bad, that I'm considering filing an emotional distress lawsuit against whoever coined that bullshit varietyspice phrase, just as soon as I can identify who exactly that person is. It's their fault I poured too much anxiety on the breakfast burrito of life. Any tips are appreciated.
Anyway, as far as panic attacks go, this recent Walmart episode was relatively manageable, mainly because I've had so many before that I've figured out how to deal with them, and how to bring myself back down from redlining.
The first one was pretty terrifying, though.
Have you ever been driving a car down the highway and when you tried to slow down you realized the accelerator was stuck to the floor, and it was gonna take a whole lot longer to stop than you expected? I'm not sure if the newfangled vehicles Santa's pulling out of his bag these days ever ship with that bug, but with older cars it could sometimes happen. The options on such occasion were 1) reach under the gas pedal with your foot and pull back on it till it popped up, or 2) drop into neutral and try to get to a stop on the shoulder without any braking assistance from the engine. Either way, if you couldn't keep a clear head and solve the problem at 70mph in a few seconds then you would probably just crash and die.
That's more or less what your first panic attack feels like.
I hardly ever have panic attacks anymore, thanks be to all the gods, but a few years ago they were hitting me a couple times a week or so.
I didn't even know what was going on. I thought it was just some kind of dumb unlucky extension of the depression I was already coping with by drinking myself into oblivion every night. After all, it's much easier to handle difficult emotions when you're unconscious.
And then I dated a girl who knew what it was, and gave it a name for me. She's long gone now, of course, just like all the others, but I'll never forget her. Sometimes all it takes is one tiny little detail for you to remember someone forever.
I don't really know where I'm going with this post. But I do know that I'm trying to be more gentle with myself with respect to expecting everything I create to be indisputable perfection. I'll never hit publish again if I try to live up to that. I'd probably just have another panic attack.
Time to go. I'm running late for therapy, and I don't want to miss my favorite hour of the entire week.
