Anxiety and Christmas Cookies

Ok, so for three days Id been looking forward to going to Cheryl's house to bake cookies to take to Rare Breed-an organization that works with homeless teens in and around the Ozarks.

Friday morning I woke up sick to my stomach. Completely nauseous. It was awful.

I chopped it up to drainage from the cold I'd been fighting and hoped it would go away.

It didn't.

Around 11am I was considering calling and canceling, but my dad said no.
I am so glad he did.
He hugged me tight and told me not to worry. He said that he knew that it was easier said than done, but I was just thankful that-for the first time since I was 13 years old-he didn't say "get over it" or "it's all in your head". He said "You'll be ok. YOu like Cheryl, right?" And I just laughed. I wasn't worried about cookie baking, I was anxious about the car ride I thought we were taking to Rare Breed later in the afternoon.
about 11:30 I started getting ready. I decided I was going to wear makeup. I didn't care that it was just going to be me, Cheryl, and Amanda (and Briana, I found out later), I wanted to cover up my breakout.
My anxiety was HIGH and my stomach was churning. By 12:15 I hadn't eaten a thing and decided to go outside. It was cool, and that always helped with my nerves. Besides, she would only be about another 15 minutes.
Well, after helping my sister get a tennis ball out of the gutter, I just kind of walked around and waited for her. My stomach never did completely calm down. Even after we'd been at her house for a couple of hours, it was still upset.
We made cake cookies when we got there, and several jokes about Cheryl in the kitchen-a very rare occurrence.It was a fantastic time!
We were getting ready to leave, but at the last minute we called daddy and asked him if we could stay for a couple hours longer and eat dinner there. He said yes, I was excited. That was the first time I had eaten-whoa. Whoa-whoa-whoa. Cheryl. Cheryl! I just put together the fact that last night was the first time I have ever eaten a real meal at your house. (I'm not counting OUAT night because that was more of snacking, hahaha) Dude I don't know why that makes me so happy! Hahaha

 Anyway, back to the cookies. Well, actually, we forgot about the cookies for a while. We did nails, we played card games, and laughed when Cheryl named the guy that came to fix their internet "Jimmy".
During dinner we decided to watch Cheryl's favorite movie ever filmed-Les Miserables. Briana then becamse anti-social and hid in a corner with headphones because she hates Les Mis with a passion.
I curled up beside Cheryl and watched for about half an hour before it was decided that it was time for the Smith girls had to get home.
After we dropped Amanda off and got to out house, Briana went inside and Cheryl and I sat on the porch to talk. We didn't talk long though because she was worried about me. I was in flip flops, so I was shivering. She said something about not having felt me shake like that since the day we were up in Hammons Tower and she hugged me when she saw me.
I didn't want the moment to end, because I love the feeling of being in her arms. We just sat in a hug for several minutes, talking about the day and plans for the weekend.

Confession

GOk, so since I can't sleep right now-feeling slightly symptomatic, blec-I decided to write about something that I've never talked to anyone about.

Not my dad, not my Spiritual Mom, no one.

It's something that happens the nights I find myself in the midst of an anxiety or panic attack.

During an attack, multiple things can happen, but there is a certain kind for me that trigger an illogical-and rather embarrassing-reaction.

The specific attack has to do with a certain few physical symptoms.

An ache between my shoulders, tightness in my chest, pain over and around where my heart is, sometimes accompanied by dizziness or a headache and nausea.

Whenever an attack like this sets in, it's usually for no particular reason, so of course my anxious mind immediatly has multiple ideas of what could be wrong and what could happen until I'm sure that at any moment I am going to pass out and have to be rushed to the hospital.

With this idea in mind, I begin to take inventory of what is in my purse and make sure everything I might need right away is inside.

Usually that list includes my water bottle, my phone and/or iPod and my charger.

My phone has my Bible, my notebook, reading, and is my contact to friends whom I would desperately need to talk to if I were in the hospital and scared witless.

It's an illogical method of calming myself down, but somehow..,just knowing that I have all of it together helps me to relax, however slightly.

Recently I've been trying to concentrate more on praying, singing, and reciting scripture than on packing a bag. But there is something about that feeling of just knowing in your bones that something is going to happen...and then having it be nothing.

The feeling of impending doom is one that cannot really be explained, no matter how much I wish I could.

Update: 10/17/14

Since I wrote this, I can count on one hand the number of times I've actually packed a bag. They've become so infrequent that I can't remember the last time I did. Until tonight.

It wasn't anything big, but I've been feeling sick for a couple hours. When j got home from work I slid my phone charger in my purse and have had it by me on the couch all night.

I don't understand this, the anxiety. It's becoming harder and harder to tell when I am actually sick, or when I am having an attack. 

My Second Mom

GTonight I can't sleep. So instead of waiting until tomorrow, I want to write about the woman who means the world to me. She has helped me through so much in just the past two years...you wouldn't believe.

This is her and I, just a couple of months ago. I'd had an awful panic/anxiety attack the night before this. I'd been reading the birthday card she'd given me. One of the lines was something like "we walk this bridge over the chasm of life together" and I couldn't stop the thought yes, but one of us will finish the walk first. And suddenly my mind was assaulted with pictures that I can still see in my minds eye.

A funeral. Seeing her, laying in a casket, unmoving. Just like my mother before her.

I jstarted panicking. I remembered something she'd said a while back about what she wanted done after she died. I started bawling.

I was crying, shaking, and I couldn't stop. For twenty minutes I laid on my floor, and then under the covers in my bed, crying.

Before this picture was taken, I'd hugged her and heard her heartbeat. A re-assuring sound to go with the feeling of security I had while in her arms.

Before I let go, a friend popped her head out the door to the porch of my sisters house, and said "Don't move. I'll be right back with my camera."

Well...I was happy to comply. After all, it gave me an excuse to hold on just a little while longer.

I first met her in January of 2012. We think it was the 29th, though I am not positive on the date.

We became friends. I began to trust her with things that I wouldn't trust anyone else with, and even asked a couple of questions which proved to be quite embarrassing for me. Lol

It was April, I think, when the thought "I love her" first crossed my mind. Not a weird "I love her" but an "I love her like a mom"

And this thought shook me to my core, because before this...that phrase had been used to convey emotion to only a select handful outside of my family. And all too late I realized that I had let another person I to my heart. And this...this is what scared me the most.

We became close, celebrating birthdays and girls night, and we-er, I-thought that we couldn't be closer. I was wrong.

Camp 2012: One day of that week is a day I will hopefully remember for the rest of my life.

It was an emotional week, and one night I had to talk with a counselor. I knew Cheryl had seen me go back, she'd have had to since she was sitting near the back, but when I looked up to see her waiting for me...

Until this night I had never seen her cry. I'd heard her cry, and I'd had the feeling she was crying before, but I'd never seen her. And when I did, it was like an emotional dam inside me broke. I walked over to her, and she wrapped her arms around me. I did the same. We both sobbed.

She asked what was wrong and I told her, and I relished the feeling of being in her arms. I'd so been longing for my mothers arms, and having Cheryl's around me...I felt like a little girl. I felt more safe and secure than I had in a while. And i know that mom was looking down on us and smiling.

That year was one that we grew closer. So much closer, that we'd never even imagined being able to have the hole in each of out hearts filled so.

A year-and many heart to hearts, tears, and emotional conversations later-it's a day before I have to leave for camp.

It's the day that marked five years since my mothers death. And I am terrified.

I'm always scared to go to camp, with my anxiety...I never knew what could happen. But to leave for camp on what was one of the hardest and most emotional days of the year for me...I actually vomited the Saturday before we left.

That day, June 2nd, I was crying. I was at home, bawling, and I couldn't stop. I'd been texting Cheryl and she asked if I wanted to walk. Her way of asking if I needed her there.

I said yes.

We walked around the block one time before ending up in the steps to the entrance to a church. We sat and talked. She listened, gave encouragement, held me while I wept and wiped away tears as they fell. I didn't know how to thank her. I still don't.

The fact that she was there was enough to make me cry again.

She has held my hand through panic attacks. Calmed me during times of anxiousness.

The first time I had a major attack while with her, I was at her house with several other friends for an all night marathon of a TV show we are all hooked on.

I don't know what time it was, but all of a sudden I got hot. I felt sick. And I couldn't sit still. I stood up and began to casually find excuses to walk around. Taking something to the kitchen, that kind of thing. Well, my older sister caught on quick and asked if I was ok. When I said no, she suggested I go outside.

I did.

The cool air instantly felt wonderful, but it didn't do much to calm my stomach or mind. As another wave washed over me all I remember thinking-as I gripped the porch railing-was I will not throw up in her bushes. I will not throw up on her porch. I will not throw up right now.

As I'm thinking this, and the wave is dissipating, Cheryl comes out and stands next to me.

"Are you alright?" She asks.

I nodd.

"I can call your dad if you want. It's not too late and it's only a few minutes away."

I shook my head "No" I said. The last thing I wanted to do was skipp another fun night that year due to a panic attack. It wasn't going to happen.

She put her arm around me and we stepped back to sit on the bench. I leaned into her embrace and clenched my eyes shut as another wave of sickness hit.

She sat with me until it all passed and I falsely assured her I was alright. I didn't feel sick anymore, but I still didn't feel great. But soon, all signs of attack vanished, and I was able to enjoy a night with some of my best friends.

And, later that night, something happened that I'll never forget.

She thought I was asleep-I'm sure-on the floor a few feet between her and Jalinn. She got up to put dishes away, but reached over to me. She tucked my hair, which had ended up everywhere after she brushed it, behind my ear and kissed the top of my head. 

I say all I've said, to say this.

She is exactly like a mother to me, in nearly every sense of the word. I wouldn't trade our time together for anything in the world. God has blessed us in ways we never dreamed possible. 

Walkin Home

Ok, so over the past two Sundays my church's drama team (Break of Day Players) has put on a play called "Walkin Home" at both our home church and at another. I waited until both productions were over before writing.

Both productions required a lot of work. And I mean a LOT of work.

Hours of makeup, hours of set preparation, and months of rehearsals for the actors.

I was given an "official" title right before the first production. Apparently I am stage manager. Not that I'm letting it go to my head...but I really like the sound of that. Even though sometimes I feel like I do more harm than good. I can't seem to shake the feeling that if I am not doing something I'm just in the way. So I try to stay busy...and end up running around like a mad woman.

But boy do I have fun doing it. I love serving, and I know that even of I don't FEEL like I'm doing anything...I actually am helping.

The first day, I was running around until about ten minutes till show time, and when I finally got backstage my heart was racing from the running and I was anxious, so I had to get myself to calm down so I could concentrate. It took a while, but the panic went away and I had an amazing night.

The only thing that went wrong, and almost brought me to tears of anger at myself, was that I was so warped up in helping someone who was nervous, I forgot to have a prop ready and one of the actors got on stage late. I was SO thankful that the other actor was able to cover for a few seconds until they were ready.

I was able to pray with and encourage one of the girls who was crazy nervous about having to play guitar and sing at the end. This is an opertunity I never would have had if I'd been on stage like I wanted to be.

(This summer I was emotional, unstable, and upset regarding the decision to try out for the drama team. Just when I was sure that it was what God wanted me to do, I discovered that I wouldn't be able to without breaking a comitment I had already made. I'll unashamedly say that I bawled the night I found out. And for a day or two after.)

So I wasn't an actor. But I wanted to be back stage. I wanted to have SOME part in it because...well the group of crazies are my family! I wanted to be with them and I wanted to see my Mama Bear in her element. I LOVE watching her direct.

So I volunteered.

And that first night as I was sitting back stage by myself...I realized something.

I didn't WANT to be on stage. I didn't WANT anyone to know what I was doing.

I was content-more than that, I was happy and excited-to be working behind the scenes where no one could see me. Quietly serving and helping others.

It was the most amazing night of my life. 

Second production: Today we left church and loaded into vans to go to the other church across town. After we ate there we set up the stage and started on makeup. We didn't really have a lot of down time, I was almost constantly running around. The one time I actually sat down it only lasted for like five minutes before I jumped up, remembering a whole list of things I still had to do.

I went back stage for the rehearsal and sat down, but immediately had to stand back up because of attack symptoms. I momentarily freaked out because I could not afford to have a panic attack right then.

I was texting a friend, so I told her and she prayed for me. Almost instantly I began feeling better. I paced around for a while, and by the time practice ended I had almost forgotten I'd nearly had an attack.

Then it was more running around and finishing makeup and corralling everyone backstage.

I could not get them to be quiet. The adults even, I told like four times to please be quiet. Oi. I know they are adults, but they'd been telling me I was in charge of backstage! I was so confused as to what to do that I finally just gave up and let Jenn tell them to hush when it was time.

I think the kids did really well with being quiet though. Yes there were laughs and whispers and the occasional random noise (more than a few accidently caused by me) but over all it went well.

I still had my freak out at the beginning and even part way through, scratching at my arm to make the anxiety get lost. But God did an amazing work.

Through the crew, through the acting, through the testimony, and through the song at the end.

My "sister" gave her testimony. It was very emotional for her. The whole play was. More than once she broke down backstage, and it killed me to see her like that. I can't take away her pain or her memories of that awful time, no matter how much I wish I could.

But her testimony is an amazing one for Christ. And anyone who knows her, knows this to be true.

I am so thankful for God's hand in her life, and in all of our lives.

He did a great work through all of us, and I am so blessed to be able to be a part of it all. I am humbled and amazed and I cannot wait to see what He does next through this amazing team!

Insecurities

Something I have noticed recently that's beginning to present a real problem, is the fact that I second guess nearly everything that comes out of my mouth. 

Even just the small and most off hand of comments that probay no one really gives a second thought...it takes me weeks to get over it if I say or do something stupid. Or if I make a mistake, or mess something up.

My thoughts tell me, more so, they completely convince me, that I am anything but needed. That I am in the way. That I should never have said something like that, I'm such an idiot for saying that, what will they think now?

They tell me I'm worthless and useless, at the times I am most vulnerable.

Lately they tell me that I'm not pretty enough. I've always known I'm never going to look like the girls on the cover of magazines, but recently I don't like leaving the house without makeup and hair done. And if I leave the house without it, I hate looking in the mirror. Or being in a picture. My thoughts convince that I'm not as good without the makeup or the hair done.

Some days I can't escape it, and I begin to believe all the thoughts that swarm in my mind. Then I get depressed, and end up in bed not wanting to do anything. Yet nothing I can do makes the thoughts go away. Makes the demons leave me be.

God is the only one who can pull me out of days like that, with a desperate prayer, a plea for help, He is at my side. No friend has ever pulled me out of a day or mood like that. They have made me laugh, but not pulled me out.

I am thankful for my Daddy God who is always there to help me. To protect me. 

If I knew any verses by heart that talked about this, I would share them. But I hold to the promise that He will never leave me or forsake me. I hold to the fact that I am precious in His eyes. And really, that is all I should care about.