Sorta Like the Shower Scene From Psycho

Once I learned what anxiety attacks are, I could look back on my life and identify times when I’d had them, just without fully understand what was going on. The first time I put the name “anxiety” to the evil face of what I was experiencing came in the summer of 1994. I’d only just been plucked from living in crisis mode, which I’d sustained for several years, followed by a series of stressful, painful events. After a few months, my Mom and I established some basic routines. I began to feel a vague sense of safety and peace for the first time in years. Little did I know that my body and mind definitely were NOT going to let me get by without dealing with what I’d endured. I remember having fallen in love with the movie “The Pelican Brief.” It greatly stirred my ambitions to be a lawyer. A few nights after I started reading the book the movie is based on, I reached the scene in which a Supreme Court judge is killed. In an instant, before I could gulp for air or scream or reach out, I sank into the furthest pit of harrowing, all-consuming anxiety. It’s definitely the most terrible and frightening thing I’ve ever experienced. Even now I find it difficult to adequately explain the extent of that gaping panic, raging like a forest fire. In the last 10 years, I’ve learned ways to address and abate my anxiety and overall haven’t felt constantly paralyzed by fear, despite some difficult times. I have noticed, however, that I sometimes have mini anxiety attacks, let’s call them sucklettes, in the shower. I’m not sure exactly what triggers these sucklettes – I’m not generally claustrophobic, but it might have something to do with the intensity of the heat and the small space. I also tend to do reflective thinking in the shower. I often review things I’m upset or pleased about or plan ways to deal with issues and problems. Usually once I step out of the shower, I feel better but something about that environment strikes a chord.

This morning I had a teensy sucklette (or a pang of suck, if you will) and realized I need to figure out why that’s happening when it does, especially since a sucklette is a good indication that if I don’t deal with whatever’s going on inside my abnormally-large noggin,  I’m headed straight for SUCKLAND, where sucklettes grow and multiply like the Ebola virus did in Outbreak. (Why am I not writing children’s stories??)

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