Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Makin' it to May: Panic Attack

Right now I'm in the midst of week 4 of semester 4 of 5 semesters to complete and I'm surprisingly feeling pretty collected. Week 5 is usually a bitch, so I'm bracing for that — stocking up on wine and migraine medication, although I'd prefer something along the lines of uppers.

I'm also fresh off a trip home to KC to see one of my dear old friends get hitched. The feeling of depression that follows after a trip home is now shaken off after about a day of being back in Denver. It used to be much longer, so I suppose that's good news. I just really miss good, real friends that I have something in common with besides how much school sucks ass. There are some potentials here of course, but being in a dysfunctional marriage with a bastard like grad school limits my ability to be close to people.

Of course, I can't blame it all on that. I'm not a normal person and anybody who reads this thing or knows me on any level above acquaintance knows that. I have a dirty mouth, a strange sense of humor and most people I meet would have to snort a line of cocaine and have a few shots of whiskey before they can relate. I'm lucky to have found a few fellow, loving weirdos along the way most of which reside in KC, hence the depression after leaving. In fact, Pat (the still boyfriend, but no longer bearded : () and I were sitting and having some drinks with my friend Erin over the weekend when she started talking candidly about her trip to Romania several years ago. Their solution to not being able to shower everyday was swiping their pits and vaginas with baby wipes, "because that's where the smell would probably come from." Then, she told us a story about how her friend shat out a turd that looked just like a penis. Pat then turned to me and said, "I see why you guys are friends."

Who the hell talks about that kind of stuff so matter-of-factly in casual conversation? That would be me and the people I get along with the best. My few and far between besties. Oh beautiful, irreverent tards of Denver, please flock to me. I need some good pals. Or, those who I already know and have started to love here, bust out of your shells. I'm dying for non-business related, non-stilted, consistent conversation and friendship. There have been a few good nights here and there, so there's some hope.

However, I really wanted to write this blog about three weeks ago when I had just gotten back from KC again. Yes, I went there twice in three weeks. The first time was sort of unplanned for my aunt's 80th birthday, which was the weekend before school started. That uneasy feeling followed me on the plane back to Denver, then when I was getting my stuff to leave the plane, one of my rings fell out of my purse and a guy found it on the floor asking, "Is this yours?" I had no idea it had even fallen out, so I start frantically looking for the other one, tears welling up, and eventually found it, but it was too late. That little incident released the dread and the worry and the oh-dear-god-I-can't-fucking-do-this-anymore feelings that have been building for several weeks.

Pat picked me up and knew something was wrong immediately. Of course, I didn't really know what was wrong at the time, so we just got in the car and started driving. About halfway home, BAM, a full on panic attack hit — sharp pains in my chest, dizziness, sobbing, head between the knees, general feeling that I'm going to die right then in the passenger seat of the F-150. Denver, for me, is associated with all things new. Some good and some bad. The minute I set foot here, I was in school, shoving a round peg in a square hole as a creative girl in the strategic world of business, so it's also associated with stress. My mentality was rejecting this place.

I was pretty screwed up mentally for about three days after that. The adjustment to a complete life change is taking longer than expected. The year mark has come and gone and I'm still in part time adjustment mode. Plenty of people move away from their family, friends and home, but most of the time they're familiar with the role they will take on when they get there. I wasn't. A location change, on top of a lifestyle change, on top of a career change is the recipe for head explosion and mine has nearly do so many of times. I love it here a lot more than I hate it and I'm fine far more often than I'm not fine, so I'll count that as progress.

Now, a few weeks later, I'm good to go. When I make it to May, I have a feeling much of this will be lifted off my shoulders especially if I have an awesome, creative job that pays me triple what I would have made if I didn't ever go to grad school. That's the incentive to plow through these next couple of months.

A word of advice if you're thinking about changing your life like I did — get the wine and the uppers ready because it's a bumpy ride that gets worse in different ways before it gets better.

Damn you May, hurry your pokey ass up.

1 comment:

Logical Libby said...

I always feel hung over after a panic attack. Like I just can't quite come back to level.

I hope you are better.


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