I had been anxious all day since I had woken up yesterday. Although, I’d say I was more depressed than anxious. The more depressed I became, the more panic-stricken I became. My thoughts quickly twisted into severely suicidal daydreams- how, when, where to do it. Multiple times throughout the day I found myself in the oh so familiar restroom stall at work, clutching onto my knees, silently sobbing. The voices were incessant. Allie was around in the morning time, as she had been before, commenting on the weather, the way I was writing, etc. Then, the visual hallucinations kicked in.
I felt foggy. Somewhere towards the end of the day, I could hear Senka in some recess of my head. My boss had asked me to gift wrap a giant box for our annual toy drive at work. As I was wrapping the box, I could hear Senka get louder and louder. I think I was panicking. I don’t remember what she was saying. It also didn’t totally sound like her. But the walls became very blurry and wavy. I lied down on the floor, trying to catch my breath and stop hyperventilating.
Next thing I know, I’m on the ground, my coworker has my head in her lap and she’s trying to give me root beer to drink.
This has happened too many times to count, unfortunately. The only thing my doctors ever chalked it up to was hypoglycemia. However, each time I was ever taken into the ER or paramedics came, my blood sugar was almost always normal. And like those times before, this wasn’t a sugar thing- but what am I supposed to tell them?
As I tried to sit up, my coworker encouraged me to hold the cup and keep drinking. My hands felt small around it. My eyes focused onto the CFO of the company unwrapping chocolate squares. “Here, eat this. Dark chocolate is good for you.” Then, another woman chimed in with a glass of some organic bubbly, kombucha. “No, have some of this. The sugar will hit your system quicker.”
My VP came over and let me know that the paramedics were on the way. I instinctively slapped someone’s hand off of me. “I don’t need paramedics. Seriously. I’m fine.” I tried to stand up and someone forced me back down.
In what seemed like seconds, paramedics were in the building. The wonted snapping sounds of latex gloves welcomed me back to the present. I answered the hello, how-are-you-doing, what-is-going-on-today questions. I was still shaky. My hands, my legs and lips were quivering. The voices were melting together and I had trouble deciphering which were in my head and which belonged to the EMTs. They pricked my finger- my blood sugar was fine. I was fine. End result: low blood pressure and I had a panic attack.
My friend drove me home. I crawled into bed, still feeling weak and took a moment to process everything. As I was falling asleep, I started having tactile hallucinations of hands on my shoulders, throat, and then I drifted off.