Stifled and suffocated

(I started writing this last night, but apparently simply writing about it gave me a freaking panic attack.)

I was overcome by this feeling of... restlessness yesterday afternoon.  I felt this overwhelming need to go, do, see, make, drink, listen, read, experience something different.  I've felt that way once before, moments before a particularly intense panic attack (not this time, thankfully, as I was (alone) at work).  It's this... feeling of wanting to crawl right out of my skin.  My mind races, but won't stop long enough to process an entire thought.  My eyes dart around, but can't focus on any one thing.  My heart picks up speed.  I feel jittery.  I need to just GO, just get out and go - walk, run, drive: doesn't matter.  Where?  No clue.  ANYWHERE.  It's like the good, old fight-or-flight instinct kicks in, and honestly feels like I could outrun... whatever it is that seems to be chasing me.

Even just writing about it is making my heart race.

I wanted to jump in the car and go do something spontaneous.  Adventurous.  Irresponsible.  But I am none of those things.  Which is maybe why I wanted to do all of those things, because that would certainly be different for me.

I'm not myself.  I don't feel "normal."  I'm not sure what normal IS anymore, and I'm not entirely secure in the knowledge that I will know what normal is again some day.

*     *     *

I ended up talking to Chebbar about all manner of things Friday evening, ranging from my mother (emailed her  ten days ago: still haven't heard from her - this is a HUGE slap in the face for me), to "normal," to wanting to eat my feelings all the damned time, to working out.  Honestly, I felt like Jessie Spano on her caffeine pills, literally falling apart as I spun out of control.  I was "fine" until he told me I didn't have to work out - that I was allowed to take a break, a night off.  Cue big, hiccuping, can't-catch-my-breath sobs because I already had taken breaks - a bunch of them - and somehow failing to take care of my health is the end all, be all ultimate failure.  FUN TIMES.  (I ended up working out because a) I knew the endorphins would make me feel better and that b) I'd beat myself up if I didn't.)

He asked if this antsiness was a side-effect of the Cipralex: I scoffed, because that didn't make sense (to me). Besides!  I've been on this stuff for eight! whole! days!  He gave me that look he likes to give me, so I pulled out the insert and read that, yes, feelings of impulsiveness and restlessness can occur.  I still think it's more related to the panic attack/Mom thing (she kept rolling through  my head Friday at work when I was feeling most make-a-break-for-it, like I couldn't run TO my mom for comfort, so I just wanted to run AWAY).

Yesterday was fine allllll day long.  Then, a combination of writing this and Chebbar's loud, intense, repetitive music (read: sensory overload) had me fleeing the room with my fingers in my ears because I had to get away from the noise.  Unfortunately, he had no clue what was going on so didn't turn it off right away, and the apartment's not very big, so I ended up out on the deck.  I was able to calm myself down after spending a few minutes enjoying the balmy wind storm.  However, when I came back into the office and sat down, the old ticker started going and I had to run again, ending up in the bedroom sobbing my face off again.

I'm tired of this roller coaster of emotions.  At this point, I don't know if it's the depression, hormones (even though I started the birth control pill stacking this month, I still had some jacked-up not quite spotting, but not quite a full period thing that was late to start and lasted longer than usual), or a combination of the two (oh, you can throw in the "my mother's giving me the silent treatment" stress for good measure, too).  I feel so fucking abnormal - I feel broken.  I don't feel like me.  I don't know when, where, or how I lost me, so I have no clue how to find me or get me back.  I worry that Chebbar will get tired of dealing with spun-sugar me.  I worry that this WON'T get better.  I hate it.  A lot.