“I don’t care, Victoria. I’ve known about this for a while and I’ve seen you struggling and you won’t let me in. All you do is suffer alone. Let me be strong for both of us. Let me hold all your worries,” he says, forcing me to look into his eyes. My body goes weak in his arms. Maybe I can let him help me. Maybe I can mentally put all my burdens on him and he can take care of me. I let him lead me into his apartment, one foot in front of the other, trying not to feel sick, trying to tamp down the rising panic, the all-consuming frenzy. As we go upstairs I note that no one is here, it’s just the two of us. I’m relieved that we’re alone and sit down on the couch beside him, burying my face in his shirt. Eventually after my sobbing dies down, he gets up and goes into the kitchen and I hear pots and pans rattling, finally the smell of garlic permeates the air and I get curious.
As I walk into the kitchen, Jared is standing near the stove, grinning like a fool, his hand in a hot mitt with some kind of ridiculous frilly apron around his waist. I just stand there, my mouth open and finally I smile and then outright laugh at him. He just smiles.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I manage to choke out in between laughs.
“I put this on especially for you because I knew it would make you laugh,” he says laughing with me, pulling me in for a hug. “I made us dinner, I’m your little Suzie-Home-Maker,” he says, tugging me to the stove where smells of tomatoes and onions, garlic and warm bread fill the air. I stare in amazement. The table is set with wine glasses, matching plates, napkins and nice silverware.
“Where did you get all this?” I ask, turning to face him at the stove as he stirs a pan of pasta sauce.
“I borrowed everything from my mom,” he replies, “Even this sweet apron, although I know you were assuming it’s mine,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows as he pulls off the silly apron, tossing it aside. “Sit, I’ll serve you,” he says, pulling out a chair for me, pouring me some wine. It feels like he is giving me a gift and I look around the room, thrilled that he went to all this trouble for me.
We eat, talk, and I’m comfortable. I feel good, better than I have in weeks, able to be me. The food is delicious too, warm garlic bread, linguine with his own home-made pasta sauce with onions and garlic and large chunks of tomato and even olives too. The wine is tart with just a bit of bite and I feel like I’m experiencing everything with a new set of senses. The ones that have been on hyper-alert lately are taking a break and others are taking their place. Rich taste, tart yet sweet tomato sauce, springy pasta, smooth texture of the wine, the touch of his hand on mine across the table, the soft look in his amber-brown green eyes, his tousled sexy hair, the air charged with intimacy. I can’t believe this is happening. I feel like giving him a gift, like pulling him into my heart.
After we’re done eating, we sit there for a moment, a friendly silence falling over the table as I sip at the last of my wine and I wonder, what can I do for him? What gift can I give? Suddenly I think about my writing. I think about a poem I wrote about him, a love poem, my heart expanding at the thought. It’s something I’ve always been too shy to share. Feelings that seem too strong, too much for me to expose. But thinking about those words, about how they would feel coming out of my mouth, forming them almost sensually with my lips and about how my stomach would flutter with normal nerves makes me feel like braving it all, like sharing part of my soul with him, tonight.
“Would you mind if I read you something?” I ask shyly, looking down at the pattern on the red tablecloth and then back at him. He looks at me for a moment, completely serious.
“You mean like a piece of your writing?” he asks, rubbing his fingers against my hand and I look up, nodding. “I would love nothing better, Victoria,” he says and I get up from the table and go slowly to my bag in his living room. My ever present journal is there, the words scribbled inside representing my heart, representing my soul, everything there in black and white. Depression, suicide, happiness. I want to share, I feel like this is a moment I will always remember. I hold the book lightly in my hand and make my way back to the candle-lit table, putting the colorful, wildly decorated journal on my lap, my hair hanging in front of my face, shy that I’m about to share things I have never shared with anyone. I nervously flip through pages, my fingers shaking, trying to find the one about him. I don’t look up but I know he’s watching me. And I feel warm, warm and safe.
Finally it’s there, indentations on the page, under my fingertips, words, my friends, and I will share them with him. My voice wobbles as I begin, looking up at his intense expression, his gold-brown eyes watching my face. I look back down at the page, my eyes watering a bit at the intensity of my feelings about this moment.
Cold shudder of worthlessness
Lost in the darkness
Alone
I deaden the pain, I deaden me
Weeping, weeping
Sorrow
Stark, black and white, ashen
I open my eyes and there you are
Full bodied, alive
Throbbing under my fingertips
Sparks of color, exploding
I start to think about emotions
Those that can’t be forced
to fit into the letters that make them a word
It’s my dam of pent up thoughts
Now I want to spend words
Nickels and dimes of emotion
My head against your chest
I close my eyes
I hear the sound of your life,
Your heartbeat
Clear and precise
A quiet thump emanates,
Beat after beat
Second after second
I sense your breath
In and out
I blink my eyes and vision clears
My hand gripped tightly in yours
Music flows, peaks and dips
And I sink deeper
A kiss
Softness against my softness
In my ear your breath becomes
breathless words
I love you
I put my fingers in your soft hair
Tracing them down and over your shoulders
Strong, hard, living flesh
I kiss your face
Warmth, life, strength, security
I never knew I could feel this way
I never knew I could let someone inside
Love me, love me
Thank you
After, I sit there, staring down at my journal, my fingertips tracing the words Thank you. My other hand is on the table and he reaches over and touches me, warm fingers sliding over my cold knuckles. I look up and he’s looking at me, very serious, his eyes vivid, almost glossy, with emotion. I don’t want to break the moment, I want to live within it forever, just him and me sitting here together, sharing with each other. And I know he knows what he’s done for me, being there for me. I can feel the air around us, is full. Finally he speaks,
“That was really beautiful, Victoria. I want you to know everything’s gonna be alright, love, just you and me. We’ll make it through this together,” he says, staring into my eyes, pulling me up to embrace me, his hard body warm and solid, steady. I sigh, slowly relaxing. It feels good to be back with him, to be standing here in his arms, his deep voice resonating in my head, his heartbeat loud against my ear. He makes me feel normal.
“I’m sorry,” he says as I look up, about to say something. He gazes into my eyes, and finally says, “Victoria, you look really beautiful right now.”
“Then…love me,” I say, putting my arms around his neck, my lips seeking his warm mouth. I want to lose myself in him right now, lose myself in him forever.
Fill me, I think, save me, prove to me how strong you are, that you can take care of me when I cannot.
#######################
I want him to take away my pain, my worries, my concerns, my fears. I’m terribly weary. I want to feel through my body, experience sensations, pulsations, a shiver of excitement.
A thrill of letting go. Escape.
Take me away from my mind, let me be free. Let me lose myself in your arms. Your hands. The heavy weight of your body on top of mine. Covering me. Protecting me. Shielding me. Saving me from myself. Gather me into your strength.
Then after, talk to me. Logic to my irrationality, making sense, abating my fears, thrusting them aside with your perfect arguments.
I want to hear the soothing sound of your voice. Your body pressed against mine. A constant reminder of your nearness. Even in sleep I know you are there. Strength in the darkness.
Talk to me. Explore me, tell me that I’m wrong. That my assumptions are wrong and why. Talk me down. Talk to my scared inner child. Help me to forget who I am and how afraid, how weak. Show me how to be strong. How to reason with the monster. How to beat back the demons. Give me the strength to make it through this time.
Suddenly it’s as though I know where I am because you do. You are the first to make it okay to be me. It’s like I had to hear it from someone else to begin to believe it’s true. It’s okay to be me. I am NOT crazy. I am Victoria. I am me.
August 8, 2005
I’m ready to be me, without the angst
I squint as I step out of my dim house and into the bight August sunshine. My cat is lazing under the front porch, his eyes closed, body slack and spread out to stay cool on this scorching day. My car is even hotter than the air, the steering wheel burning my fingertips as I begin to back out of the driveway. Today I’m heading to work, something normal and routine. It isn’t until I’m about half way to the store that I suddenly realize that I don’t feel anxious, worried or stressed. In fact, now that I think about it, it’s been days since I last thought about panicking.
I can’t fucking believe it, it’s crazy to think that all I’ve been focused on recently are regular, everyday events. Thoughts of friends, Jared, work, my family, the trip Jared and I just went on, camping at the lake and somehow, no panic. It’s a revelation, a relief, to suddenly feel like a normal person. I assess my body, trying to determine how I feel. I feel relaxed, my stomach is not clenched into a knot, my hands and leg muscles are loose and my thoughts aren’t racing around in my head. For once I don’t feel sick. It’s almost as if I forgot how to live without feeling that way every single day, I’m literally amazed at the transformation. For once in my life I feel somewhat normal. I smile, thinking about my day and about how I’m going to see Jared and a few of our friends tonight. School will be starting up again soon and I feel ready for once. I’m ready to tackle the world.
Finally I feel like a normal person. I can wake up and go to work without that twist of dread in my stomach. It’s like a miracle to feel good, have energy and not feel ill every second of every day. I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling good because I’ve lived for so long with that feeling in the pit of my stomach, just a constant feeling of dread and terror and finally it has gone and I feel light and free. Normal people don’t feel sick every day and now I know it was my panic and not just part of me to feel sick all the time.
Now that the panic has subsided, so have many of the sensations. I still worry, though, and I’m still scared of certain scenarios. I still avoid certain activities but now I’m not miserable every day. It’s not a 100% solution and I don’t think anything ever will be. This thing is ingrained in my mind, part of my history and who I am. I don’t expect that I’ll ever leave it fully behind, but this is a good temporary or longer solution.
Someday maybe I’ll try to get off the drugs when my life smooths out and in the meantime I’m going to try to find natural ways to take better care of myself. That’s my goal for the future…but for now…I’m pretty happy. I’ve got a great boyfriend, I feel like a normal teenage college student about to go back to classes and I’m ready to start my real life. I’m ready to crawl out from under this rock I’ve been living under, I’m ready to relish the sunshine. I’m ready to be me, without the angst. I’m ready to come back to life.
#######################
Waves rubbing on sand, touched by starlight
Touched by the moon,
Amazingly soft and deep and dark
The night air cool,
speeding by me, brushing by me
Fingers through my hair
Here I am tonight
to say those things that can’t be said
to express feelings through a touch
deeper than words
To feel something incredible,
to touch your face
A kiss, an intense moment
that lasts my whole life
I want to live in that second
of words and feelings and nerves
To feel the breeze and see the starlight,
to inhale and exhale
To blink my time away, to love you
Here I sit, existing in my time,
not saying a word
Not trying to describe, just living
Until the moon descends
and we go to bed and sleep
I am in love with all this life
I breathe, I love,
I know things that cannot be said
Oh my god, I feel so much,
is to die, is to live, is to speak, is to write…
is to be everlasting
A pause, a moment of reflection
What have I been saying of starlit nights,
of holding your hand, of crying myself to sleep
Just skin and nerves,
senses and words, always words…
Acknowledgements
First and foremost I have to say a big thank you to my friend Kerri Lavertu for her tireless help over the past few months. Kerri has been my photographer, my editor, my friend, a person to bounce ideas off and even occasionally my cheering squad and therapist. I couldn’t have done it without her help and support.
Secondly, thank you to Mindy for being one of my first readers and someone I could talk to about my writing. I loved our conversations about being “English majors.” The same goes for Stephanie who read one of my 1st drafts even though it was hard for her at the time.
I also need to say a big thank you to Dana Fox who read my novel for me and really pushed me toward publication. She was the one person who said the right thing at the right time and she was the right person to say it. Because of her, I learned to be fearless and I don’t think I would have decided to pursue self-publishing without her positive influence.
Finally, I need to say thank you to my parents and husband. There really aren’t words enough to say thank you to them for all their support over the years, especially when I was feeling particularly crazy. My husband is my rock, my support, he is the person who makes it okay to be me. My parents have always been there for me as well and have helped me throughout my life in so many different ways. Love you all.
The then, the biggest thank you has to go out to my readers. I know this is putting the horse before the cart, because as of right now, I don’t have any readers. However this book will be successful or not, depending on you. If you bought my book and allowed me to take you on a journey of panic, depression and anxiety, I thank you for the opportunity to show you the world of girl who thinks she’s crazy, a girl who struggles, falls down and finally realizes life is important and that she can’t let one problem destroy everything. I hope I’ve touched you and I hope you’ll take something away from this novel, either the knowledge of what it means to suffer with panic attacks and anxiety and therefore a greater capacity to understand and empathize with your fellow human beings or the realization that you are not alone, that there are others of us out there with brains that work just like yours.
About the Author
I’ve have personally suffered from panic attacks, anxiety and depression for 20 years, almost to the month as this book is being published. I’ve been through the gamut of coping methods, therapy, medication, natural methods and just plain suffering to get through the day. This story, Victoria
’s, is mine in essence even if it is not mine in the details. I had a very difficult freshman year of college. I drank, I made mistakes and I was the girl in the basement talking on the phone to her boyfriend about death. But like Victoria, I couldn’t let it win, I couldn’t let it take all my happiness, so I fought back. At the time it was medication, but later I learned other ways to cope.
Life is still a struggle for me every day and I’m still restricted in my activities, but I think part of the growing process, part of accepting me for me has happened while writing this novel and through blogging, because I’ve met people who are like me and I’ve explored who I am in a deeper more meaningful way. And hitting the publish button has really showed me that I can be strong, I can share who I really am. I hope you enjoyed Victoria’s story because like it is for her, writing has been therapy for me.
If you’d like more Wicked Victoria(s), visit my blog at www.angstanxietypanic.wordpress.com
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