We are now entering hell. Please keep your hands and elbows inside the car.

"Love that once hung on the wall,
Used to mean something,
But now it means nothing..." - Avril Lavigne - Let Me Go

~//~

So this past Tuesday, I wound up going to the doctors because over the weekend that my daughter was visiting with my parents and my husband was out of town, I started having this strange chest pain that made me feel short of breath and like I couldn't get enough air.  Given that I have a family history of heart problems, I thought I should get it checked out.

On the plus side, my heart is fine.  Downside, that crushing weight? Most likely panic attacks.

It's not really all that surprising.  I do tend to be a worrier, and it seems lately that all the worries have piled up to the point where I don't even know where to begin with dealing with them.  Plus apparently anxiety and depression are caused by the same chemical imbalances in the brain so it's not actually that uncommon for people to swing between both.

I have to say, while it's a relief that my heart is fine, the fact that I've basically had it confirmed by a medical professional that I have anxiety is mildly terrifying.  Because I've dealt with depression most of my adult life.  Depression is familiar territory.  I know what it feels like, I can tell when I'm heading into a spiral.  And I've begun to develop coping mechanisms that can at least keep me mostly functional when I lose my footing.

But now it's like Depression has brought along a big, mean friend and has completely changed the rules of the game.  I'm still figuring out what is triggering the panic attacks so hopefully with a bit of counselling, maybe some medication I can take long-term, I can get a handle on this.  I don't know if scrolling through facebook will trigger me.  Or something at playgroup.  Or one of my daughter's meltdowns.

My husband has been brilliant throughout this.  Mostly because he's been through this (anxiety) and so he's been helping by suggesting techniques for coping.  He doesn't judge me for being a hot mess, for needing medication to cope.  He just accepts and asks what he can do.

And I love him for that.  And for a great deal many other things.

But especially for that.

With his support it makes it easier to take things day to day.  It makes it easier to see the light at the end of the tunnel and remember that it does get better.