My journey through pain - 28. Chapter 28 - Out of the lake

Months have gone by since I last wrote, and it has been an interesting time. Tough, challenging, at some points surprisingly rewarding – an ongoing struggle to regain my footing in the middle of a frozen lake, on ground that felt like treacherous and slippery ice at the beginning. It felt impossible to try and take a step forward without risking losing my balance and falling down, crashing through the brittle surface that could barely hold my weight and sinking into the black and icy waters of panic. That panic would close in and rob me of all volition, making it seem as though it were impossible to do something as simple as drawing the next breath. For me, there was no light in the deep, only fear… and I fell into the frigid waters many times. But somehow, each time, I climbed back out onto the ice. Sometimes I did it on my own, forcing my limbs to move by sheer force of will and swimming upwards until my head broke the surface of the water and I could gasp for air. Other times, I was helped by the kindness of others. A kind word would reach me and help me up. A friendly hand would steady me just as I was about to fall again. I do not forget each and every single time I received help from others. In the darkest of times, I experienced firsthand what compassion is like.

Despite the fear and the pain which raged in my mind, one thing never wavered: I wanted to keep moving forward. I wanted to reach the shore. I took tiny little steps each and every day, inching my way to my destination. For me, these steps were incredibly challenging at the beginning. They were simple things, like remembering to try and breathe deeply when I woke up in the mornings, heart pounding in my chest, anxiety gripping me with clammy and invisible hands which felt as though they were pressing against my chest and constricting my throat. They were things like going to the gym each day even when I didn’t feel like it at all. Or finding the strength within me to get out of the shower when it felt like I couldn’t face the world out there and I would rather just stay right where I was, trembling despite the warm water. I did these things and hundreds of others. Each day brings new challenges, and time goes by, as it always has.

Something is changing, though. I scarcely noticed at first, but even tiny little steps begin to add up over time. Some time ago, I tripped and fell, slipping on the ice again, triggered by some or other scary or challenging thing going on in my life at that moment. I hit the brittle ice and shut my eyes tight, bracing myself for the horrible plunge into the cold panic of the lake – but the darkness did not come. The rushing water, the sensation of drowning, not being able to draw breath… None of that was there. Blinking, disbelieving, I open my eyes and looked. The ice underneath me had cracked, sure, but beneath that there was not water but solid ground.

I could not believe it. I still struggled to stand up, but I managed, like I have done so many times already. After I was back on my feet I looked back for the first time in a very long while and I realized that the lake lay… behind me. I was no longer standing over its treacherous waters but on actual ground. I had not even noticed, so focused had I been on simply moving forward, sliding one foot in front of the next, trying not to lose my balance.

I took a long moment that day to feel wonder and thanks. Then I kept moving forward. All around me the ground is still frozen, and it is still hard to keep my footing at times, but I haven’t had a panic attack in many weeks, maybe months, and I know now that even if things get hard and I trip, there is a safety net below me, actual ground to support me while I get back up, and that this ground is something I have reached through months and months of struggle, of little steps in bigger steps, a solid foundation I have built for myself as I keep making my way through life. It’s a foundation built on hundreds of little things, on good habits I have slowly cultivated through time. And as this very time goes by inexorably, I see little pockets of icy ground ahead of me beginning to thaw. The warmth of the sun above is melting the ice little by little, and there have been a few stretches of ground where I haven’t only been able to move ahead without slipping, but to actually walk upright, steady, secure, like I used to do before all of this happened. I will keep going forward, one day at a time, one decision at a time. As time goes by, I keep hoping the ice will melt some more. Maybe one day the ground ahead of me will be dry. I keep hoping that maybe, one day, I will again be able to run.

--

Hi everyone. Sorry about the long silence. I think I’m beginning to heal, little by little, and the road has been as fascinating as it has been challenging. Now that enough time has gone by I think I’m really beginning to get an understanding of what happened to me, how my mind reacted, and what I can do to move forward, like I described above. When something really traumatic happens, in my case at least, it really did feel as though there was a wound inflicted on my mind. The depression I’ve struggled with for most of my life gave way to all-consuming anxiety and I became stuck in a fight-or-flight state, where everything was terrifying and I felt, each moment of the day, as though I were under an omnipresent yet invisible threat that I could not deal with, I could not avoid, and was just about to crash over me and consume me.

The psychic wound left my mind raw and painfully hypersensitive to every stimulus. Going about the day was like trying to walk barefoot when the soles of your feet are injured. You feel every single tiny rock underfoot and it hurts just to take a step. So it was for me, but in my mind. Little things like making a decision seemed unsurmountable. Do I go to the gym or do I stay home? Do I go walk my dog or not? Everything was a trigger and a possible negative association, irrational. For example, a shirt I had worn when last I had a panic attack. I would be scared to wear that shirt again. Or something I had eaten or heard or seen last morning, say, like a banana – I would do my best to avoid bananas in the evening for fear of recalling the frame of mind I usually am in during the mornings, when the anxiety hits me the strongest.

I did many things to try and help me cope, some more successful than others, but in general I now realize I essentially cocooned myself in a very carefully structured pattern of routine and set goals to achieve each day, with stimuli carefully planned ahead of time, designed to prevent my mind from wandering too much or having too much time to simply be alone with my thoughts, because back then the silence of my own mind was unbearable. Anything that might have been too emotionally stimulating I simply avoided. Fiction in particular, reading – I have always loved it, but I could not bring myself to read. I know I get very emotionally invested when I am reading and it felt like my mind simply could not handle that. Movies I also avoided for the same reason. Music as well. For months and months, it was all I could do to remain steady and keep moving forward, through the ups and downs of normal life.

Time heals all wounds, though. Even psychic wounds, in my case. It’s taken a very long time but I’m beginning to feel like myself again. Last year, around this time, I was a total mess. I was actually afraid of this 2019 holiday season because of what it would remind me of, and the negative associations that it might bring, but actually I have mostly felt wonder and thanks when I cast my thoughts back twelve months and compare myself then to now. Back then, one of my most desperate wishes was to have one normal day like I had before this entire crisis began: a day without panic, or fear. That wish has already been granted, and I almost did not notice. The anxiety is receding, little by little. It’s not entirely gone and I don’t think it ever will be, but I am learning to live with it. Many of the habits I developed during the past months have now become well-worn tools in the toolbox I carry with me everywhere I go, and which help me deal with situations as they come up. I have learned how important breathing is when you are trying to calm down. I’m not always successful, particularly some mornings, but I have gone through the experience of anxiety leading to panic so many times before that I can now remind myself that I have gone through it – and I’m still here. I have gone through a really bad situation, from my own point of view at least, and I survived. Not only that; now that the wound is healing I think I am actually stronger than before. I know how to deal with total hopelessness and overwhelming panic. I know how to get back on my feet after falling down and that fills me with confidence and self-assurance. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I am not terrified of it anymore. My focus has shifted. Before, all I wanted was to be perfectly safe, to reach an equilibrium where nothing would ever change so I never would have to feel afraid again or be trapped in the downward spiral of anxiety. Now, I am trying to learn that things change all the time. Desperately clinging to the way things are now and rejecting change is not the way to go, not for me. I need to learn acceptance.

Mornings for me are particularly challenging, as I have said so often before. But now, every single morning as I am getting up from bed, I remind myself three things: I need to learn to let go of the past. I need to learn to accept the changes of the present. And, most important of all: I need to always find a place in my heart for hope for the future.

Thank you, everyone, for reading, but also for all your support and your wonderful wishes throughout this challenging time. I do not forget. Every single message I received was a kind word which helped me out of a tough spot. Each one meant more to me than I can explain. Thank you. I want to write again, of course, and now that I am feeling better I think it may be time to start thinking about it again. In the meantime: happy new year! Thank you so very, very much. Today I logged in for the first time in a long while and the first thing I saw were a couple of messages in my profile from fellow authors and friends who were wondering whether I was okay. I am. Thank you for caring. My best wishes to you all for this new year.

Gratefully,

-Albert