Worse, before it's Better

As Michelle (my therapist) has pointed out, the closer we get to the underlying issues and memories I have, the closer we get to the emotions. This is turning out to be painfully - excruciatingly - true.

I find I am far more sensitive now and more easily triggered. I want to cry more often. I ache more often. I am confused more often and I shut down more often. I am overwhelmed far more easily and I panic more often.

When she called me yesterday to cancel our appointment for today because she's been recruited to help counsel those involved with the Newtown shooting, I was immediately panicked. Not just because of that, but because I'd just gone to the grocery store and it started then. I was getting some groceries with Bill and I began to feel things closing in on me - the walls began to close in, the people got closer and louder and I was starting to get confused. I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

We go to the car and I lit a cigarette with slightly trembling hands.

"It's okay, honey," Bill assured me.

As we drove to the gas station, my angst grew and I was trying desperately to do the "belly breaths" and calm myself down. I wasn't sure entirely what was causing my anxiety but Bill got out of the car and it got worse. Part of me was glad he wasn't there to see it. It is embarrassing to be so visibly helpless, to feel so afraid.

I jolted when my phone rang. Ironically, I just downloaded a new ringtone - something melodic and calming. Still, the sudden shatter of the quietness in the car, startled me.

The name was my therapist. At first I was overcome by a fear that I'd done something wrong and she was calling me to tell me I was bad. I know this is irrational, but this was my instantaneous first thought. "Oh God I did something bad and now she's going to leave me!"

I answered the phone. "Hello?"

I heard her familiar voice, "Cristina? Hi hon. How are you?" she asked, probably detecting my unrest. She is exceptionally perceptive.

"I'm - I'm okay," I stammered. "I just had a minor panic attack that's all. Just let the grocery store."

"Oh no, take some deep breaths," she reminded me gently. "You're safe now."

I tried. God I tried but then she said, "I'm calling because I have to cancel our appointment for tomorrow," she said calmly and apologetically. "I have been recruited to go help in Newtown," she explained.

She's leaving me! She's leaving me!

I was immediately trembling ten times worse. Not only because she was cancelling, but also because it brought up the Newtown incident, which - for me - brought out a whole slew of irrational emotions that have been holding me down since I wrote about them.

"Okay," I answered, shakily, trying desperately to hide my fear and disappointment.

She assured me that we would be in touch and do our regular session on Thursday and I told her good luck, before hanging up.

Unable to control my pulse, the heat of my skin, my trembling and the nausea, I grabbed frantically for my purse, reached inside for a Risperdal disintegrating tablet. I was glad the windows were fogged up and that Bill had not yet returned to the car.

When he finally did, he took my hand. He asked me if there was anything he could do. I shook my head, no and pulled my coat closely around me, frustrated by the seatbelt that was serving as an inconvenience to the task.

We had to go to the laundromat. I didn't want to go in. "I don't want to be seen," I told Bill after he asked me if I would like for him to put the clothing in the dryer.

"But I have to do it," I said.

I blocked out everything. Turned everything off. Just shut down and did whatever I had to do, still a little jumpy; Everyone in the laundromat seemed suspect. They were all staring at me. I felt small - so small - but defiantly (as I was when I was young) continued with the laundry chore.

"Do you want to go back out to the car?" Bill asked. Yes... Yes, I need to get out of here.

Everything is a little bit of a blur. We came home. I made dinner. Bill stayed with me the whole time.

My thoughts race. My heart pounds. My decisions are difficult. Sometimes I just wish I could go to sleep and not wake up.