Quick character sketches
I try to relax. The sinking feeling is again in the pit of my stomach, seeming to throb with weight and pull on my esophagus, the back of my throat. I breathe deeply to calm myself, which briefly raises my heart rate and makes me worry more.
I grasp my water bottle – an old friend at times like these – and bring it to my lips. It jutters there, spilling about as my fine motor control goes to shit. I can hold my hands out straight and stiff as a board, but any delicate act and they suddenly develop a mind of their own.
I yawn once again, compulsively. It feels fake, but good. Gives me something to do.
I feel light headed. It passes.
Jake?
Yes, here.
You’re next.
Thank you.
I’m shown to a nice, if dated, room. Colors are subdued, which is nice because all of my senses seem too much on edge. The lighting is provided by upward facing sconces, as opposed to downward facing fluorescent office-building bulbs. Another nice touch. A miniature water fountain burbles in the corner. I suppose it would make me want to urinate, if I weren’t so anxious. I feel like the sahara. I grab my water bottle and pull again. It is a 64oz, oversize sports bottle. It holds half a gallon. I have drunk 3 since this morning. I am on my fourth and it is nearly empty. This makes me anxious again and my eyes dart, looking for a sink or a drinking fountain. I suppose the little zen fountain will have to do in a pinch. I lean forward, actually considering it, when the psychologist walks through the door.
(Continued after the jump...)Feel free to have a seat wherever you feel comfortable.
I sit on the couch.
Thank you.
What brings you here today Jake?
I'm having another, ah, episode.
My throat closes. The thing in the pit of my stomach doesn't want me to say this. Doesn't want me to admit that I am... flawed? Out of control? Bonkers? Subject to the whims of a weighted ball in my guts?
She is talking, but I haven't heard her while my mind races. I try to pick up the conversation and then panic as I am lost, and the words don't immediately make sense, as though they are a foreign language or all run together. My mind flattens them out and begins to catch the rhythm again, but she is a good therapist. She's seen the panic written on my face, though I've tried to mask my emotions. She starts again slowly.
You've come by before due to anxiety, right? Usually you see Dr. Frauenfelter, correct? I nod. She has such a singsong voice, so soothing and well articulated, but with an accent I can't quite place - as if ‘pleasant' had its very own accent. She's well stacked for an middle-aged woman - she obviously takes care of herself and is probably a vegan or vegetarian or something because she is too soft-hearted to think of animals dying for her food. I look into her eyes to see if she recognizes that I know - that I know this little piece of trivia about her - that we share something in common now - but there is no recognition there, just concern.
I'm having trouble...
My throat goes as the weight in my stomach dries my mouth and yanks on insides again.
talking.
I understand Jake. Just relax for a minute and I'll do the talking. I'm sure you're aware of what the clinical symptoms of anxiety are? Perhaps you even know the feeling of what many call a panic attack?
I parted my lips, paused, and just nodded my head up and down. Creakily.
You may be feeling chest pain, a choking sensation, shaking or nausea. All of these are completely normal side effects of panic attacks. For the time being just listen to my voice and attempt to ignore them. I'm proud of you for coming in today. Many people try to hide anxiety and panic attacks by shutting themselves away - and such behavior is counterproductive. The fact that you were able to face your fears to the point that you could come in to the office says that you have a strong will to defeat these issues. The fact that you were capable of such, indicates that you are not losing your mind, as you may well feel at the moment.
And I did feel proud of myself, a little bit. Some of the blackness descending lifted at that. Some of that weight inside me let up and I think my major muscles trembled just a little bit left. I opened my mouth to speak, but found I had nothing to say. Still, the relief must've been in my eyes because an angelic smile spread across the psychoanalyst's face.
A little better?
Yes.
Good. Now, lets talk a bit about what's bothering you, shall we?
Thursday is payday. Every Friday I cash my check at the same bank, and I try to get the same teller location (though not always the same teller-person). This is difficult, as there are 6 teller windows, and the line is sequential. It would be easy to wait my turn until I approached the front of the line, then let people go in front of me until the correct window came open. I could look as though I were waiting for a special service that only that teller could provide. Or I could pretend to talk on my cellphone and invite others to go by so that I'm not rude and have completed my call before I approach the teller window.
But that would be too obvious. People would know. People know there are no special services at different teller windows. They would find me out and embarrass me. I cannot pretend to continue a cell phone conversation while attempting to count out which window is next. I'll lose my concentration and one or other of these will falter. Then they will know. And what of the person I step in front of when I end my faux phone call, jockeying to get position on my teller window? How is it their fault that I picked this moment to end my call. Why am I not extending the same courtesy to them that I provided to others? No, this wouldn't do either. People would know. They would find me out and embarrass me.
So I go to the long desk of paper forms and pretend as though I'm filling out many deposit slips. I'm sure it is obvious to the cameras that I am not actually writing anything, however I do not worry about the cameras embarrassing me. Often they are not monitored live, and even if so, they are a distant threat.
I go to the long desk and pretend, as I watch the people go by. First I watch for frequency of transaction time. Then account for anyone in line with large amounts of paperwork or coin returns. Then I anticipate the general order that people will appear at the transaction windows. I am usually rather successful. I go there first thing Friday morning, and I know the regulars. It's not usually very busy. When things get too confusing, I step out of line and make an obvious path to the restroom. No one will begrudge an old man a few trips to the restroom. Then I return to the table and resume my operation.
Some days the teller window is closed. The frosted panes are shut. The triangular ‘Please see next window' sign is in front of the frosted glass and I go home and hurt myself.