How many people suffer from anxiety attacks, that apprehension or uneasiness of mind usually over an impending or anticipated event? Sometimes we have no idea what is causing the fear that attacks us. It begins with knots in our stomach, our body tightens with dread, the inside of our body is shaking. Beads of sweat dot our brow. What has caused it? What must we do to alleviate it or make it go away quickly? Usually we are immobilized and digging around in our brain to find the source is the last thing we want to do.
If we are smokers, we begin chain smoking. If we are drinkers, we hit the bottle. Crying doesn’t make it go away, writing in our journal will help but sometimes all that does is accelerate the fear. Deep inside the inner well of our memories some part of our body has remembered something that triggers the anxiety. Even if we try to grab it, the memory is illusive. If we are around other people our biggest fear is that they will notice what is happening. Eventually the fear subsides leaving us weak and still fearful.
I used to have anxiety attacks with regularity. Today I cannot remember the last time I had one. What kind of miracle is this? It’s called recovery. We all have demons inside of us, some small, some not. As long as we keep them locked in a closet in our mind and never open the door, we can handle it. Or can we? Fear is the keyword here. If we only had healthy self-esteem we would have no fear. But people who have been abused as children don’t have healthy self-esteem. Instead we feel such a sense of inferiority and shame that healthy self-esteem is beyond our reach. We can distract ourselves with any addiction we can think of but that only works for so long. Food, alcohol, drugs, sex and other distractions only increase our problem. And in the end you are left with only one truth: you need to REPAIR yourself.
In my poetry I found solace. It was only after I began recovery that I was able to understand what I had written, the truth of what had happened to me and what I could do to handle the anxiety attacks which were the direct result of the abuse. The more I read my poems the more centered and strong I felt. When I wrote the following I was in the midst of my third marriage to an abuser. I was suicidal, filled with despair, lived part time in a women’s shelter. Even with that mountain of pain I could see what was happening.
Victims get what they request,
When they entice their fate
And lessons learned are harsh and swift,
And wisdom comes too late.
I needed to stop being a victim. I knew the only one who could make that happen was me. But where to begin?
First check HALT. This is Hungry, Angry, Lonely and Tired. Are any of them present in your life? Probably all four are there. Find something to eat, get a good night’s sleep and then reach out and call a friend, take a nap and punch some pillows with your rage. Sit quietly until the rage dissipates. Now you can begin to locate the source. After you go through a recovery program you will discover how to find the source.
Sit quietly, close your eyes and take a deep breath; try to find the center of your being. Breathe quietly over and over. Reach out to your Higher Power. Keep repeating, This too shall pass, and The only thing that’s the end of the world is the end of the world. Don’t try to find out why you are having an anxiety attack. In time you will be able to trace it back to its source and deal with it at greater lengths and with more strength. For now, you are emotionally fragile and the moment which is fraught with fear, is the only thing you need to contain. Once you have reached a modicum of peace; open your eyes. Find reality. Pull yourself to where you are and what is going on. You are safe. No matter what has caused the attack, in present time no one can hurt you.
I add the following poem, which I wrote midway through recovery, in hopes it will give you the strength you need; that you will find courage in the words I wrote.
Most of my life was spent,
Putting pain on hold,
Always being obedient,
Doing what I’m told,
Stuffing all the grief,
That I didn’t know was there,
Into a lonely closet,
As if I didn’t care,
Moving through the patterns,
Placed by childhood rules,
Never realizing,
I had all my own tools,
Till the child that dwelled inside me,
Raised her screaming to a roar,
She would be heard and dealt with,
Till she had to scream no more,
Then slowly I began,
What I’d always known to do,
Picking up the pieces,
Trying to find a clue,
And assemble there a picture,
Assiduously complete,
Of a new and stronger woman,
A never ending feat,
I find I face the challenge,
Of combining me with me,
As if two friends were meeting,
To set each other free.
My volume of poetry, Odyssey, A Spiritual Journey, which these poems are from, will be published in its entirety in 2016. Please see our Repair Your Life page on our website.
.
