Late 2008 I subscribed to a few Adelaide Symphony Orchestra (ASO) concerts. I was fine then. Fast forward a few months to early 2009 and I was not doing well. I had to attend one of the concerts. Worse still, my seat was in the middle of a row. I couldn't do it. I froze. Everyone else walked in and I just couldn't. The worst thing I could have done was to not go in. The second worst thing I could do was to rush home. I did the worst but decided to see if I could calm down enough to maybe go in after the interval.
As I sat alone in the foyer of the Festival Theatre one of the ushers approached me to see what was going on. By that time I knew that PAD was like any other chronic condition; it wasn't something to be embarrassed about, it's just the way my brain is wired. So, I explained. He was brilliant. If you live in Adelaide, did you know that the Festival Theatre has a 'crying room'? I didn't but it does and the usher brought me up there. I was able to watch Ben Lee perform with the ASO! It was the best compromise for that situation and I walked away from the evening feeling triumphant.
Fast forward again this time to early 2013. We had tickets to see Tom Gleeson at the Adelaide Fringe. Our plan was to eat dinner in The Garden of Unearthly Delights and then see the show. The day was hot and humid and I had a small health issue bothering me. Nevertheless, we proceeded. We had to park a reasonable distance and, by the time we arrived in the Garden, I was hot and bothered. That was all, though. Health was fine, anxiety levels low.
After eating we lined up for the show. It was general admission so we had to sit where they told us. I could have explained that I needed an aisle seat but was confidant I could get through the one hour. We were seated in the middle of a row and the first thing I did was scan to make sure I could get out if I needed to. Part of my condition is to need to be able to get out of a situation quickly if need be. About fifteen minutes into the show a large wave of anxiety washed over me. I grabbed a hair tie and piece of paper from my bag and tied back my hair and gently fanned myself, thinking the heat may have brought on the anxiety. It made me feel nauseas and weak. I tried really hard to concentrate on the on-stage activity. I probably lost concentration for less than five minutes and then the wave passed. I don't really know because I was caught up in the show.
Cheers.
So glad you were able to let the 'wave' 'wash over you' and you didn't have to miss the show.
ReplyDeleteYour metaphor of a wave makes me think about what it is like to be playing in the surf with one's back to the waves.
Everything is fine and fun as each little wave breaks around you, until a wave comes up that is unexpectedly much larger and more powerful than the rest.
Suddenly your head is spinning as the wave slams into you from behind and almost knocks you off your feet. Your head is filled with a "whooshing" sound of white noise from water gushing into your ears as well as from the dizziness.
It is hard to breathe as you cop a mouth full of water and sand. The sand in the water and turbulence around you make your skin itch. Your knees weaken from the strain of resisting the force of the water which is now receding and dragging the sand from beneath your feet.
It feels like you are sinking into the sea floor and then you discover the same wave is burying your feet in the sand, anchoring you to the spot, giving you some stability to straighten up and catch your breath after a bout of spluttering. As you shake the water from your ears, the noise in your head dissipates and you find your senses ready to enjoy the little waves again.
I don't suffer anxiety in the same way you do, Rachel, but wonder whether your 'wave' (of anxiety) analogy has anything in common with mine? Are your symptoms comparable?
Ooops, I meant to comment on this but got sidetracked. It's a good analogy - I'd never thought of it that way before. At first I thought that the comparison in relation to anchoring me to the spot wasn't apt. The more I pondered it, however, the more I realised that, with every strong wave of anxiety I get through without running home in a blind panic I become more "anchored" as a person.
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