Spitting Nails

I had a panic attack. Something that happens to other people. Something you read about. Something that just doesn't happen to me. It was awkward. My mind went on the fritz to the tune of the old AOL login sound effects.

After almost 4 days of little sleep, little food, and little to eat, I spent Saturday afternoon trying to nap but just sitting in our bed. My mind spun it's tires and revved the engine while stuck in the mud of all my greatest fears. Relational trauma takes 5 years to heal. I'm going to be a sad and weird mom around my son until just in time for kindergarten. All my memories from my marriage are fake, tainted by my husband secretly thinking how disgusting I look and basically waiting to shoo us out of the way so he could be alone. The rest of my life, I'm going to be looking behind my shoulder, having to babysit him, will I ever really trust again? The old carefree, loves to laugh me is gone, my life will never be the same, Nate killed that me and now I have to spend life as this self loathing, panicked worrier.

After giving up on sleep, I went downstairs. My heart was already pounding and I felt a little weak. Nate was asking me how I was and what was going on. All the thoughts from my head started pouring out. Soon, I tried to take a breath and it felt like it wouldn't go down. I was gasping, trying to inhale, but barely able to. Then my speech got really weird. I started stuttering very heavily, it would take me 10 times to spit out a word or phrase. That turned into "chanting"-saying a short word or phrase and then repeating it 50+ times. For instance, at one point, Nate said, "We're going to be ok" and I responded, "Not me" and then rattled it off for the next minute, not me, not me, not me, not me. It felt like I wasn't saying it, but that they were getting shot out of my mouth. 

At some point, Nate called my mom, who rushed over. She focused on my breathing and had me not talk, but just breathe. Eventually, things started to slow down. I told her how lonely I was for my best friend and from everything he'd done I felt like he must hate me. She said, you still have your best friend that loves you. Nate as your husband/lover is the part that is sick and needs to heal, but him as your best friend is still there.  This really resonated with me. I realized that all my racing thoughts were about Nate as my husband/lover and that I do still trust and enjoy Nate, my best friend. I can get comfort from him and work together with him and have normal conversations with him.

Nate and I discussed that briefly and then my mom took me to her house to take a sleeping pill and get some rest. 

Ever since my mom made the best friend distinction, my mind has finally stopped racing. For the first time, I have put all my fear and hurt in the husband box and will work in therapy to unpack and heal that. This terrifies me, but it's a problem I've lobbed to future Bethie, to worry about another day. This has given me permission to have normal moments with Nate, to laugh, share our feelings, to continue to take care for him, cook for him, and do nice things for him without feeling like I'm an idiotic doormat.

I am feeling hopeful for the future, but so sad for the past. We've been robbed of so many things. I will add to the list, my first night away from Cyrus. What should've been a well earned rest, maybe a surprise girls night planned by Nate, was a medicated life preserver thrown my way to avoid going to the stress unit at the hospital.