I laid in bed fully clothed, wet cheeks, breathing quickly. It felt like my chest would explode in any second. Clothes were scattered all over the bedroom floor around me and the bathroom light was still on. I didn't care. I didn't care about anything. My heart still ached and my stomach was in knots after the panic attack. I just needed to breathe slowly and calm down.
The light from my cel phone caught my eye. It was a text.
"I'm leaving work now. I'll be home in just a few minutes. Hang in there sweetie," it said. It was from my husband.
Hang in there? I always hang in there.
The all too familiar feeling of guilt and embarrassment washed over me as I began to think of all the reasons why my husband should've married someone else. Someone normal. He didn't deserve this. He was way too good for me.
I tried to think about how I got to this point. What happened to me? I just felt helpless. Defective.
(We'll just call him Brad), When Brad came home, I could hear him rushing up the two flights of stairs to get to me. His faced looked scared and exhausted. He was obviously worried; and so was I.
Over the past year these panic attacks had become more frequent. I had been diagnosed with ADHD four years earlier after a lifetime of social, educational and professional turmoil. I feared now, that there was much more to this diagnosis that I hadn't addressed. A deep, dark and lonely depression accompanied by an anxiety so intense that answering my phone or even leaving the house became more overwhelming than I could bear.
Brad gave me a kiss on my forehead and then scrambled through the top drawer in his nightstand looking for something.
"I'm calling your doctor," he said matter-of-factly.
"Can you please go downstairs and make the call?" I asked. I didn't wanted to hear the conversation. There was already too much noise going on in my head.
"Sure, I'll be right back. Are you ok?"
"No. I'm not ok," I said. "I'm definitely not ok."