Just Breathe

"2 A.M. and I'm still awake writing this song; if I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me, threatening the life it belongs to. And I feel like I'm naked in front of the crowd 'cause these words are my diary screaming out loud and I know that you'll use them however you want to."

When I go into one of my panic attacks, Brian has to remind me to do what is supposed to come naturally to me.  Sometimes, I am so overcome with panic that I lose control of what I'm saying or doing.  Or not doing.  

I don't think I have a disorder, but I'm not a doctor.  And I do know this isn't normal, but it's common.  I've gone back and forth in the past 3 months, questioning whether or not something is really wrong with me.  More than that, I have often been too ashamed to face the reality that this is my present glory: brokenness; His glory.  And that shame only adds to the anxiety.

I've learned that this anxiety thing can be pretty cyclic.  One anxiety attack leads to more anxiety which leads to another anxiety attack, which leads to more anxiety and so on and so forth.  It isn't easy to accept that this is just the way things are going to be for now.  The Lord knows I fight it.  And He also knows how I fail.

Most of the time, I have no idea what triggers my attack in the middle of a seemingly-ordinary day.  It's this day-by-day, sometimes moment-by-moment uncertainty of being fine one minute, and coming entirely undone the next.  By the time I realize that my stomach is twisting and my chest is aching, my body is beginning to shake as I've already stopped breathing properly.  

And when Brian reminds me to breathe, it's always the moment that my conscious mind can faintly hear above my subconscious cries that I've lost this minor, and yet at the same time major, grip on reality.  

I can't remember to breathe.

Maya Angelou once said,

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."

I run into the unwanted answer over and over again that healing takes both time, and screaming my diary out to anyone who will listen, and I believe that my battle is every bit spiritual that it is mental (and physical).  I think I stop physically breathing sometimes because my mind gives my body the impression that it isn't supposed to stop; I've forgotten how to take breaks.  In all these years of running, and holding on,  and hiding, and holding out, I've forgotten-- or maybe never even learned-- to be still and accept being fought for.   

When I am alone with my anxiety, I find myself in the midst of an attack pretending that I can faithfully wish the panic away.  But when Brian is there to see them, I am made more aware of the fact that wishing isn't really doing the trick.  He prays for me in that moment; sometimes I let him hold me, and sometimes I don't.  But more recently, he's been reading Psalm 27 to me even when I push him away because I told him that a friend of mine reads it to another friend of mine who has been suffering extreme anxiety as well.  If it takes him a few repetitions, he still catches my attention with the same verse every time.

You have said, "Seek My face."  My heart says to You, "Your face, Lord, do I seek." -27:8

My heart has to speak.  Because my mind is a mess.  

I have a follow up appointment with my doctor next week, and while I know that she will only remind me that even from a medical standpoint, healing takes time, I have the temptation to wish that she will put some plugs in my head and fix the little hiccups in my brain.  But for as long as it has taken and will continue to take to unfold this story inside me that is not even mine, I let myself be reminded to breathe, and just breathe.  

Because my Father is fighting for me.