Ever have one of those days when you figure something out about yourself that totally changed your outlook on life? Yeah, I had one of those. I started this blog series because I was unhappy. I was angry all the time and I didn’t know what to do.But now I’m starting to think that maybe anger  isn’t the root cause of my unhappiness. Today I was faced with a realization that scared the everloving shit out of me. I’m not only an angry person, I’m also a terrified person.

Fear is possibly the root cause. Fear of what? I’m not sure yet.

Ever since I was a kid, I’ve had panic attacks. The first one happened in the attic of my next door neighbor’s house, when their son pinned me under the… what was that? A boiler? A furnace? I’m not sure. It was a machine and it was very warm to the touch. Now, he hadn’t meant anything. We were making out, because that’s what you do when you have a cute next door neighbor and he wants to kiss you. Anyway, I’m not sure what it was. We were under it, and maybe it was the combination of minimal space and the heat of the thing, but that’s when it happened. The panic gripped me and I broke out in a cold sweat. My heart slammed against my rib cage, maybe skipped some beats here and there, and my chest seized with pain. It was hard to breathe.

So you can imagine how fast the kissing stopped.

I never told anyone about that. Not my friends, not my parents, not the boy I was kissing. I don’t know how I managed it, but he never knew about it either.

That was the first of many panic attacks. Mostly, they came right before a big change in my life. When i graduated college, when my kids were born (let me tell you, a panic attack while in labor? Not fun), my wedding, my other wedding, every time I started a new job. It didn’t matter if it was a bad thing or a fantastic thing.

But this week has been the worst for them. They’d stopped for a while, but in the last two weeks, if I didn’t have one a day, that was a freaking miracle.

The funny thing is that it hasn’t been stress-related. Because the last couple weeks have been far less stressful than August and September. I’ve had stress-related panic attacks, sure. But it’s not the primary cause. Sheer force of my will has kept these episodes under control, my refusal to succumb to something that I know isn’t there. I slow down, I breathe. I go take a nap. i read. But oddly enough, talking about it? Triggers one every time.

So I sit here and wonder… How am I supposed to talk to people about how I feel or what’s going on, if I get a panic attack every time?

This phase of my life is all about changing things, doing things differently than I did before. And while that’s a good thing, it’s absolutely terrifying. I hate it. i wish that it didn’t do that. I’m so horrible at accepting help. I had to borrow my dad’s credit card the other day so I could fill my gas tank on my car. I felt it then, and then a few minutes later, I was retching in the toilet.

I like to be in control. I like to be respected. But right now? I’m weak and I’m terrified.

Is this because I’ve made this new decision? That I decided to go into business for myself, to hang my shingle and say that I’m there? My writing is my life. It’s everything I ever wanted or needed in life. It’s a crossroads. I’m still submitting manuscripts to publishers, but I’m also prepping multiple new stories for self-publication. There’s something about taking out that publisher-buffer that scares me so much, but it’s something that I’m ready to do.

So my career is in flux. My personal life is an odd mix of awesome flower blooms, and scorched earth. Some things are getting awesome. I’ve forced myself to go out and meet new people. I’ve made some new acquaintances that I hope turn into friends. I’m getting out of the house. I’m getting finances sort of under control. But it’s not there yet. This is a time in my life that these changes require such concentration, and courage, and really… I don’t have it.

I have no confidence, no certainty of my actions. And that’s what leads to these attacks. That’s what forces me out of breath, that forces me to hole myself in my bedroom until I can get it under control.

But I’m tired of it. So here I am, sharing this crazy part of my life with you, because the alternative is to cry alone in the dark and try to breathe.

I happen to like breathing.