Being Strangled

Hit me last night. Like a right hand pressing against my throat with the thumb up against my windpipe. Doesn't hurt, but it is uncomfortable to swallow and somewhat disconcerting. Needless to say I was freaking out, and to some degree, I guess I still am. This feeling of being strangled is very real, but when I had the doctor look in my ears, mouth, and feel my throat up down, from the back, side to side, etcetera, he could find nothing wrong.

I told him I was feeling anxious about the whole thing. When he looked at my medical history he saw that I'd seen their family practitioner for anxiety back in July. Told me what I was feeling is textbook for a panic attack. Now I'm sitting at home with a brand new bottle of Celexa wondering if this truly is all in my head. I'd almost prefer a gigantic tumor squeezing in to block off my windpipe, at least you can do something about that.

I've tried so long to manage my anxiety without pills but if my heart rate and general freakiness isn't a good indicator of my condition, I don't know what is. I've known for a month that I was on a slippery slope. Cranky and impatient with my friends, angry for no reason, anxious and worried about everything, but all this just seems normal to me. Now I'm taking pills I really don't want to take just to find out if it really is all in my head or if there is a tumor trying to strangle me.

Either way, my chest hurts now, just like after and during one of my old panic attacks and I've got acid reflux which could explain my throat too. I don't like anything that has to do with my neck. Neckties, turtle necks, etc really make me anxious, and that's what this feels like... a necktie put on too tight... but I can't take it off.

I'll take half of one of these pills, see what happens.

I've got to keep working regardless. I feel tired today but every moment I rest only seems to make me worse. I'm down to counting the minutes of every day I work and the number of words I write. While I'm piling on the pressure to perform, I'm falling apart, freaking out, and showing physical signs of my poor mental hygiene... again. Why am I so weak in spite of trying so hard to be strong... none of this should be getting in my way but the harder I push the more it pushes back.

Two hours of messing around with the Doctor and getting my medication, gone forever. Time I could have been writing, lost in the miasma of this personal conflict.

...

All right. I think I'm done whining. Back to work.