AnotherDay
05-05-2008, 09:53 PM
I find that "screaming" into the keyboard as I type is a good way to get things started.
Hi, I'm AnotherDay, as in I take life one day at a time, as in "another day starring at the ceiling ... another day... just breathe" (10 points to anyone who knows the song I am talking about).
In January, I had my first attack. I was 24. I had just gotten back from a week seeing my best friends and family 4 provinces away. I was 3 days away from going to Mt Washington for a weekend of drinking and skiing...though I don't ski.
And it hit me.
I've been smoking pot for 10 years. Every day for 10 years. The longest I had gone without pot was about a week, and that was when I was backpacking in Europe and I lucked out when a local had some at a bar or a hostel. I fell in love with Amsterdam. I fell in love with the scenery, the lifestyles, the culture, the markets, the idea of living out of a bag with a thousand bucks in my pocket. I'd live there if I could. Not even for the pot. It's just incredible there. Too bad I don't speak Dutch.
I took a hit from the bong, the same bong I had used for a year... and I couldn't breathe. My heart beat raced from a normal resting heart rate to 120BPM. I lost feeling in my limbs. My jaw clenched. My shoulders and neck froze with tension. My chest felt tight to the point where I wanted to rip my boobs right off so I could breathe again. I started saying my final goodbyes, so very confident that if I were to close my eyes, I'd either wake up in a hospital, or not wake up at all.
And 25 minutes later, it was finally over.
Not knowing what just happened to me, I had a good cry and thanked my lucky stars I was alive.
This has happened three other times in the past 3 months.
With that last time landing me in the hospital, because I realized that the other attacks happened on the sofa, whereas this happened on the highway and I was no longer a threat to myself, but others as well. I didn't want to be a name in the news where I killed someone because I had an attack.
Of course, by the time I drove myself to the hospital, my attack had stopped.
I was tested for certain enzymes pertaining to heart attacks, x-rayed, had a few vials of blood withdrawn... and nothing. It's "just" anxiety. My heart is healthy. Just beating a bit faster than it should.
Well, it didn't feel like "just" anything. No, not at all.
I've been able to pin point what is setting me off.
My boyfriend of 4 years, believe it or not.
The man I am supposed to marry, have kids with, spend my life with...
See, it turns out that my boyfriend has kept a big secret from me after all these years.
In November, a week after I had gotten back from working in another province, as I am supporting him financially while he is in school, I go on his computer to see the pictures from Halloween ... our first year in 4 years that we went as a "couple" and not as individual characters.
I can't find the pictures.
So I start looking for them, thinking they'd be in his recent documents.
Nope.
Not even close.
It's she-males and a guy he had picked up off Craigslist and had added to MSN and exchanged photos. Pictures where I was cropped out, or pictures I had taken of him.
It was about how he wanted to be "bottomed" because he wanted to know what it was like. Flat out admitted he was bi. Not one mention of me, though the "are you seeing anyone" question never came up. It was going to be a random fuck, only he stopped because he said that it wasn't worth risking what we have.
I gave him another chance...foolish me.
3 months later, I have trust again, but I have a very vivid dream and I am drawn to his computer once again... and what do I see? The same she-male porn. And lots of it.
I finally say "this is it. This is your third chance. Fuck it up and I am gone".
And then, yesterday - not even a month later - he is back into it. I had another dream. 3, to be exact. I had 3 dreams about this. And I was right.
It was more of this. It was another lie.
I packed a bag, gave back the diamond he gave me and said that this was it.
Somehow, he managed to stay the night... and stay again tonight. Maybe it's because he paid 1/2 the rent this month (I needed money for paying the government taxes this month so that I wouldn't be owing them a crap load of money).
I had my first consultation today with a shrink...over the phone.
I had sworn up and down that I wasn't crazy and that I didn't need therapy.
It was only after listening to myself, as I sipped on my vodka and low-calorie cranberry cocktail that I realized that I am clearly not capable of living this life without some kind of guidance.
I had been so strong.
I thought I was better than that.
I watched my mother battle anxiety and depression, to the point where she was locked up in a mental hospital for 3 months when I was 15. I've watched her battle addictions to pills, wine... just days without saying a word to my brother or I.
I don't want to be that.
Thanks for listening.
Hi, I'm AnotherDay, as in I take life one day at a time, as in "another day starring at the ceiling ... another day... just breathe" (10 points to anyone who knows the song I am talking about).
In January, I had my first attack. I was 24. I had just gotten back from a week seeing my best friends and family 4 provinces away. I was 3 days away from going to Mt Washington for a weekend of drinking and skiing...though I don't ski.
And it hit me.
I've been smoking pot for 10 years. Every day for 10 years. The longest I had gone without pot was about a week, and that was when I was backpacking in Europe and I lucked out when a local had some at a bar or a hostel. I fell in love with Amsterdam. I fell in love with the scenery, the lifestyles, the culture, the markets, the idea of living out of a bag with a thousand bucks in my pocket. I'd live there if I could. Not even for the pot. It's just incredible there. Too bad I don't speak Dutch.
I took a hit from the bong, the same bong I had used for a year... and I couldn't breathe. My heart beat raced from a normal resting heart rate to 120BPM. I lost feeling in my limbs. My jaw clenched. My shoulders and neck froze with tension. My chest felt tight to the point where I wanted to rip my boobs right off so I could breathe again. I started saying my final goodbyes, so very confident that if I were to close my eyes, I'd either wake up in a hospital, or not wake up at all.
And 25 minutes later, it was finally over.
Not knowing what just happened to me, I had a good cry and thanked my lucky stars I was alive.
This has happened three other times in the past 3 months.
With that last time landing me in the hospital, because I realized that the other attacks happened on the sofa, whereas this happened on the highway and I was no longer a threat to myself, but others as well. I didn't want to be a name in the news where I killed someone because I had an attack.
Of course, by the time I drove myself to the hospital, my attack had stopped.
I was tested for certain enzymes pertaining to heart attacks, x-rayed, had a few vials of blood withdrawn... and nothing. It's "just" anxiety. My heart is healthy. Just beating a bit faster than it should.
Well, it didn't feel like "just" anything. No, not at all.
I've been able to pin point what is setting me off.
My boyfriend of 4 years, believe it or not.
The man I am supposed to marry, have kids with, spend my life with...
See, it turns out that my boyfriend has kept a big secret from me after all these years.
In November, a week after I had gotten back from working in another province, as I am supporting him financially while he is in school, I go on his computer to see the pictures from Halloween ... our first year in 4 years that we went as a "couple" and not as individual characters.
I can't find the pictures.
So I start looking for them, thinking they'd be in his recent documents.
Nope.
Not even close.
It's she-males and a guy he had picked up off Craigslist and had added to MSN and exchanged photos. Pictures where I was cropped out, or pictures I had taken of him.
It was about how he wanted to be "bottomed" because he wanted to know what it was like. Flat out admitted he was bi. Not one mention of me, though the "are you seeing anyone" question never came up. It was going to be a random fuck, only he stopped because he said that it wasn't worth risking what we have.
I gave him another chance...foolish me.
3 months later, I have trust again, but I have a very vivid dream and I am drawn to his computer once again... and what do I see? The same she-male porn. And lots of it.
I finally say "this is it. This is your third chance. Fuck it up and I am gone".
And then, yesterday - not even a month later - he is back into it. I had another dream. 3, to be exact. I had 3 dreams about this. And I was right.
It was more of this. It was another lie.
I packed a bag, gave back the diamond he gave me and said that this was it.
Somehow, he managed to stay the night... and stay again tonight. Maybe it's because he paid 1/2 the rent this month (I needed money for paying the government taxes this month so that I wouldn't be owing them a crap load of money).
I had my first consultation today with a shrink...over the phone.
I had sworn up and down that I wasn't crazy and that I didn't need therapy.
It was only after listening to myself, as I sipped on my vodka and low-calorie cranberry cocktail that I realized that I am clearly not capable of living this life without some kind of guidance.
I had been so strong.
I thought I was better than that.
I watched my mother battle anxiety and depression, to the point where she was locked up in a mental hospital for 3 months when I was 15. I've watched her battle addictions to pills, wine... just days without saying a word to my brother or I.
I don't want to be that.
Thanks for listening.