The battle against the inner-self
I have this immensely bad feeling that I can’t explain, but deep down I feel that something, somewhere is going to go terribly wrong, and in a very big way.
That’s right, I’m having an anxiety attack. I’m pretty sure I brought it on by drinking too much caffeine, which is what I get for using my coupon for a free two litre of Diet Pepsi Max on an all-nighter project night, but alas. It just blows me away how quick it comes on, because one moment everything is absolutely fine, and there is nothing wrong. The next moment, you’re overcome with this immense feeling of terror, like the roof is about to cave in, or the building is about to collapse, and you know for certain it’s going to happen, but there is nothing you can logically do about it. All the while, you have this immense amount of energy, and you can’t sit still, and then the paranoia takes over.
What was that sound? Was someone just talking?
When it starts, it’s almost as if there are less colors in the world. If I remember correctly, the human eye can perceive millions of colors, but when that feeling starts, it’s like the world is reduced to 32 colors. Everything becomes a little darker, and vibrant colors stand out more, almost as if they have some meaning that you’re meant to interpret. Things made up of more dull colors just seem to fade away, almost as if they don’t exist. It starts to become a very Silent Hill-esque world.
If you’re listening to music, it’s like you can hear more of what is actually going on in the background. You can hear the guitar pick scraping along the strings, the subtle notes of the synthesizer, once subjected to the background of the track, now projecting as clear as the guitar and bass. If you’re listening to a concert bootleg, the talking of the audience sounds like someone has walked up right behind you and proceeded to ask you a question, or make a comment about the band, which is the most terrifying thing in the world. Other normal sounds of apartment living, such as the downstairs neighbor shutting the door, or the next door neighbor turning on the faucet or flushing the toilet now seem like vast conspiracies of invisible people to infiltrate your apartment and your living space against your will.
When you remember to breathe, you realize it doesn’t come as easy as it did only twenty minutes ago. You start to inhale, but your lungs will only fill half way, almost as if there is some rubber band around them that won’t let them fill all the way. Panic ensues, you try harder to fill your lungs, but the harder you try, the less they fill. That’s when the hyperventilation and lightheadedness starts.
Finally, in my case at least, I tend to start to see things that aren’t there. I will see things that make me blink, and then they’re gone. Shadows around the walls, objects on the table, things out of the corner of my eye, they all exist until I blink, and then they disappear, never to be seen again. I think scientifically it may be the paranoia, and lack of oxygen to the brain, but I don’t know. It’s just one of those things where you know you’ve reached the pinnacle of the anxiety attack.
And that is what it’s like to have an anxiety attack.
