The anatomy of a breakdown

I thought long and hard about writing this one, even asked a friend for some insight on whether to post this. I wrote this post about a month-and-a-half ago, juggling with whether I should ever post it. It’s pretty personal, and it just doesn't feel right.

Recently, though, I got a message from someone who watched me on TV regularly and watched me talk about my decision to leave news for my mental health. I also also recently watched a video of a young girl crying out for her father who committed suicide months earlier. Now, a part of me feels compelled to get this off my chest, share the ugly side of this struggle.

This is very personal and makes me uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

As I've said in posts past, I'm not looking for any sympathy, words of encouragement or anything like that. I have also never contemplated taking my own life, so no need to worry. I am very aware of what I need to do to move forward. I'm sharing in hopes this resonates with someone else who may need the same help I am getting.

A few sessions ago, my therapist gave me homework. It was to listen to guided visual meditation. A soothing voice talks over ambient sound while guiding the listener through meditation. She told me to listen to it when I was in a calm state to help me cope with emotional breakdowns before they happen.

Fail.

The first time I actually listened to guided meditation, I was in the throws of an emotional breakdown.

What does my breakdown look like? Well, I've experience two different kinds at this point. An anxiety-type attack and an emotional attack, both of which I think looks like a total mess.

In an emotional breakdown, the first to go is my breathing. It becomes staggered. I find myself regularly holding my breath before I realize I’m not breathing, which is when I lose the ability to catch my breath. I then start hyperventilating.

I feel my hands tense up, grip and squeeze nothing in the palms of my hands as though my life depended on it. I can feel my fingernails digging into my palms, which oftentimes leaves marks. I can feel my heart pounding through my chest. My whole body becomes tense, and before I know it, tears uncontrollably fall from my eyes.

Here’s where it gets really ugly.

I sob uncontrollably. I mean, ugly crying with tears flowing like a river. Eyes opened or closed, I can't stop the tears. I’m still hyperventilating, and I can’t stop it. At times, I’ve choked on air as I try to catch my breath while continuing to hold my breath.

My mind races faster than any horse on a track. One thought to the next, feelings of worthlessness overwhelm me. I feel pathetic, and I’m absolutely terrified. I think back to the countless faces of despair I've seen, the friends I've personally lost, the charred images of vehicles or homes destroyed in fires.

Tears rush down my cheeks. Most times, I really only become aware of them as they fall into my ears or land on my chest, legs, arms. After a while, I start to feel like one with my tears, emotions, heartache and fear.

This is where the guided meditation comes in. It has helped, but it starts off with a lot of hyperventilating before I can control it all, before I can stop the fire that swallows up the train crash in my mind. It has taken me anywhere from five minutes to even several hours to calm down before.

During an anxiety attack, it feels like just that. An attack.

My heart beats uncontrollably, fast and hard. I can feel it through my chest, in my throat. I've recorded my heart rate doubling before in a matter of seconds. I get this feeling throughout my body of my skin crawling, like I need to move parts of my body to stop it, but I can't. It's like I'm paralyzed. Tears try to force themselves out, but I can't feel anything more than that odd tingling sensation. I'm swallowed by overwhelming feelings of worthlessness and fear.

My goodness, the fear.

My fears are always irrational, and I know they are. But I'm legitimately terrified. I can feel myself shaking. I'm afraid of everything and anything in these moments. The thought of being alive even terrifies me: the fact that I have to experience the fear, sadness and feelings of worthlessness is scarier than anything I have ever experienced.

I think the worst part of all is that I know exactly what starts a breakdown. I get started on a train of thought that doesn’t stop. In fact, I keep filling the cars on the train with new passenger thoughts, so to speak. Then, out of nowhere, the train crashes, all the cars smash into one big pile and fire instantly swallows the crash.

Most of the time, I can feel the breakdown coming. I recognize when I’m getting close to one. I’ve tried to start the guided meditation here. It has only worked once to stop a breakdown.

Most of the time, these breakdowns happen when Justin isn't home, which I like more. It's harder for me to get myself together when he's around. It hurts me more knowing he wants to help and I don't know how to let him help me. So far, we've done a glass of cold water to avert them, which has worked. There have been times, though, where I toss and turn in bed unable to fall asleep with him soundly asleep next to me.

I don’t have them often. There are normally weeks, if not months, between breakdowns. It’s one of the reasons I no longer follow the news. It's the easiest way for me to avoid the breakdowns.

"Even when I've calmed down, I still feel empty."

For once, though, I couldn’t escape it. A couple of months ago, I had three in less than 24 hours.

Three.

I have had these anxiety attacks at least three times the last two weeks, one of which felt more like an attack on everything I knew about my present life and myself. It lasted me about 12 hours, leaving me hyperaware of my surroundings and just so scared. I couldn't drive, eat, think, sleep. I was paralyzed by fear of things I know are irrational, totally out of my control or just nonexistent.

I hate these meltdowns. They leave me feeling drained for a few hours, maybe even a day or two. Even when I’ve calmed down, I still feel empty. I still yearn for something, though I've never found out just what it is I need.

It's hard to tell myself that these are a part of the process, the healing. So often, they feel like setbacks, like I'm not making any progress. My therapist, though, has told me she’s glad I feel these periods of peaks and valleys because it means I’m healing. We're healing the wound from underneath the scab, which means we sometimes have to rip the scab off.