Jenn And The City - The White Rabbit Chapters

JATC is turning a page in the blog. It's evolving from cave drawings to Alice's adventures. The tone will be the same, but the content will be a bit different. Let's all take a deep breath and follow the white rabbit down the hole. Following the rabbit won't be a problem for the whippet-types. Eveyone else will have to take it on faith.

The last year of my life has been fabulous. I am well cared for, I have a terrific job, and a lovely family and beautiful dogs. I have time to devote to my writing. In comparison, the prior twenty years were a struggle to survive, to care for those around me and myself. I no longer have that stress.

In spite of the positives, and in spite of my high level of functionality, sometime in the last year a white rabbit with a pocket watch invited me down a very deep hole, to a very strange and scary world. I don't know how I got there, and I don't know how to get home. I'm not quite sure what to do here. Sometimes I watch myself wander through the gardens and tea parties and have no connection with myself. That's called "disassociation". Sometimes I blank out and things don't look the way they should. I know I'm at work, but where does that door lead to? Where is my desk? I'm sure Alice could empathize. Most of the time I just plain ass panic. Calmly, and in my head. I'm too tough to actually lose my mind in front of an audience. So far....

I've tried Alice's solutions. "Drink me" helps, but it isn't exactly a solution I want to get sucked into. It's starting to cause friction at home. Which makes me feel even more disassociated. Integrity is important to JATC, but she's losing her grip on even that. Since the "eat me" pill solutions provided by my fabulous physicians don't help much, it's very easy to turn back to the negative "drink me" therapy. I don't mean to criticize, the fabulous physicians are doing the best they can.

I travelled to Bend this week and barely remained functional for the trip. That will suprise anyone with me there. I held it together. Until yesterday. Yesterday I nearly got wiped out on my way to work by a truck crossing the center line. While I was obviously frightened by the near miss, the more disturbing thought was "well, at least I wouldn't panic anymore" followed rapidly by "Rob wouldn't be disappointed in me anymore". This.Is.A. Messed.Up.Train.Of.Thought. Just in case you're wondering.

So I functionally drove to work, attended my critical meeting, then got in my car and called my doctor. He sent me to the emergency clinic. Emergency clinic doc listened to my story and kept me for observation. ER doc found me a counsellor, (hopefully the White Queen and not the Mad Hatter). He consulted my pharmacy history and found an error in a previous prescription. (Too much pepper in the soup!), and corrected it.

Because of my disassociative disorder, the ER doc (Dr. Australian Shepherd) mentioned a thought I'd previously had - a trained service dog might be of benefit.

So I start today with new tools to cope with the overwhelming and exhausting panic. There will be appropriate meds, a counsellor to teach coping skills, and a trained assistance dog (one of my own) for crises. Hey, Alice had the caterpillar, the Cheshire Cat, and a flamingo.

I choose deliberately to tell this story honestly, although I'll feel weak and loser-like for going here. But my narcissistic self thinks that I will get some interesting stories in this experience, and maybe, just maybe there is someone else out their with highly functioning panic disorder that will come to understand that it has to be dealt with.

Genes, they tell me. My wiring isn't like other people's. I'm trying to believe that.

If you find this too-self absorbed for your liking, I won't blame you for not coming back. But I'm willing to bet that in a day or two, I'll find humor in panic. And that should be Very Entertaining.