I got a phone call from the amazing Tommy Howard saying I had sent in the wrong column, so I began thinking about all the column ideas that I had been toying with and had planned to write about something fun and light-hearted.
But like all things in life a good plan is often just a suggestion, not really a plan. I woke up to a full-fledged panic attack. You would think that someone with a panic disorder would not find that surprising, but I did.
It was so painfully obvious when I opened my eyes this morning that I was going to suffer a long, hard day. I am shivering, shaking and having to remind myself to breathe. It had camped at my feet while I slept and crept up to invade me and my day.
I have to pull out all my coping skills. Sit outside, take deep breaths. Write, remember it won't last forever. It won't kill me.
I want to curl up in bed and just cry. I cannot believe I am here again. I want to scream and cry. It is such an evil villain.
Even though I know all the things I need to do to help myself but feel powerless to do them.
I play the "what if" game. A game that I can never win.
I shake and shiver and think, "How can I live a life like this?" I will wait for it to pass, because like all valleys in this life I will soon come to the mountain top. I have to, right?
I am helpless against my own self. How can I mother my children when I am like this?
All I can do is turn to the One who can help me. He is my Alpha and Omega, my beginning and end. I will lean on Him.