Panic! at the Election

So Obama's the next president, historic, democratic, tall. I'm drunkish and wired and decide to get what little sleep I can before dragging my ass into work Wednesday morning when, boom: Panic attack. I guess that's what you'd call it; I've never had one. I've never been one of the worriers in the family, voted most mentally healthy, on no mood altering medications, etc--I just completely went to Crazytown. Hyperventilating, couldn't get my heart to slow down, pacing, felt like I was going to throw up.

Things that could have brought this on, but didn't:

1. Obama winning the election. I don't do so well with being happy. Especially since the campaign was divided into, at least in my mind, Hot Prophet and Utter Republican Hell, the latter would probably have been... well, not easier, exactly, but more in line with my cynical expectations. The former left me so elated I had no where to go (except crazy, apparently).

2. Online dating websites. Obviously what I'm looking for in a relationship is a man who's "looking for the lady to compliment [sic, either way]" him, by way of asking me to show him my boobs. Guys, I'm 27. While my boobs are spectacular, it's going to take more than a sentence fragment for you to see them.

3. Suede's "collection" for Bryant Park at the terminus of Project Runway. Shudder.

I did manage to sleep, but the next few days I was still not right. Everything looked different, everyone I talked to looked strange. I found some ways to cope, mostly breathing and taking the odd walk, which got me through work. Work helped. Now that I have the benefit of a (dreary, raining, thanks so much) weekend, we're going to call this small stint of crazy the combination of 1) chemicals and 2) a metric shit-ton of repressed stress. Let's examine.

Chemicals: the cup of coffee I had at 10:00pm on election night, foolishly thinking it would be a while before the decision would be called, followed an hour later by much celebratory wine. Also, the new birth control I started last month that (apparently) makes me tetchy; I would call the lady drugs irrelevant, but for a few days now my right ovary has been raising hell (perhaps Barack-induced ovulation? It happens. He cures blindness, too). The three hours of sleep I got on the morning of the fifth left me immuno-compromised, so I was sickly and panicked for the next three days--meaning the last thing I wanted to do was eat. Or drink. Specifically, I didn't want to drink coffee. The dopamine levels in my brain were so rocked by caffeiene withdrawal, my body spent three days alternately sleeping and running to the side of the boat to barf over the rail. I have managed two cups of tea since, but my stomach is still not level. Perhaps tomorrow.

Stress: Much as I would try to deny it--and I will, so I must be feeling better--my dog dying, then not dying, then losing a leg, then recovering; dropping 2 large on a surgery; running a marathon I was not completely prepared for with a finishing time 2 seconds longer than the previous year; attempting to write a sequel to a novel that is not yet complete; starting a new job that is about ten times more taxing than my previous job; getting ever closer to thirty with nobody to think my weirdness is adorably quirky and a menstrual 'cycle' that's more of a pennyfarthing just might be affecting my sanity more than I had thought.

I am feeling okay right now. Strangely, I feel better when I write. Also, when I talk to people, which is anathema to my entire way of life, but there you go. Maybe the caffeiene detox is a good thing, in the end: More yoga, less stimulants. I plan to sleep, spend and redecorate this one off. Anyone have any Days in Crazytown anecdotes, feel free to comment: you are so not alone. Sometimes it's just effing hard to have a brain.


Dann Rafferty said…
You spelled caffeine incorrectly both times in this post.

You're welcome.

Gibulet said…
Way to look at the bigger picture there Dann :P

You got my recommedation (sp Dann?)already. Glad the S.A.D light helped Beed; no one likes poopy weather. I want to move somewhere warm. Maybe we can just stay in Barbados!
Sleepy Scott said…
I had a feeling my sentence fragments weren't cutting it on those dating websites.

Nice post.

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