This evening. . .

My news for this evening?

I hyperventilated, in the emergency room. Or rather, on the way to and in.

Let me tell you, this, oh yeah, this was fun.

First, I was sitting on the couch, watching some random show or other, when I suddenly took this deep breath. I had to think for a moment. Was I breathing before? I had to physically concentrate on my breathing. It all felt too small, my breaths, my heartbeats, my concentration. My mom was sitting across the room, and I told her. I really, really, was afraid I was going to simply forget to breathe, and my body would just shut down, quit. I convinced her to take me to the doctor, because without some knowledgeable advice, I wouldn't let myself go to sleep at all, afraid I would wake up dead. Wake up outside of myself.

We got in the car, drive across town, and as we're about to pull into the parking lot, it got worse. See, first the right side of my left hand started going numb, then my right hand, then it just, you know, stayed tingly for a while. As we were walking across the lot, into the lobby, up to the desk. I'm trying to breathe, but my hands are still going numb, still grainy sand rubbed across the inside of my skin. I can't make it stop, even when the lady tells me to take deep, even breaths, in through my nose, out through my mouth. Deep, even. We go to sit down, to wait until they call us in. Until, of course, it radiates up along my arms. . . . and my lips, my mouth, start going numb. By then of course, I was in the waiting room with my mom. My arm, from the elbow down went entirely numb, every sensation a hundred miles away. They were, apparently cold, but I couldn't tell. I felt comfortable, temperature-wise. Then my hands seized up, tightening into these sort of claws. My elbows locked, I couldn't move my hands. Then my entire body, and I mean literally, my entire body went numb. But I was still breathing, in through my nose, out through my mouth. I couldn't really open my mouth more than half an inch, and I couldn't move my lips, so they were stuck in this sort of 'o' shape, the kind that babies get from sucking their thumbs, so that I could force the air out. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, out. Slow, even, deep. I couldn't move at all, my eyes were twitching, I could hardly lift my eyelids. I was really panicking now, but as long as I could breathe, yeah, I was fine. Elbows locked, can't move at all, but yeah, fine.

Tears streaming down my face, trying to breathe, hands in bird-beak claws, entire body numb, but I was fine, as long as I could breathe.

Apparently, if you breathe too deep when you're hyperventilating (which I didn't know I was), then you only make it worse. Because, according to the doctor, when you breathe that much, you expel all the carbon dioxide from the body, which caused the seizure-like claws, the nerve chaos, and the continued inability to breathe.

Huh. Really?

Wow, that was an experience.

I've never had to wear a hospital gown before, with that thing on your first finger to measure the level of oxygen, and those things stuck to your chest to measure your heartbeat, which left massive red circles on my chest, resembling huge ring worms. Don't you love how I use the word 'thing' a lot? But I honestly don't know what they're called. Anyway, my neck felt so weak after that, floppy and muscle-less, as did most of my body. I was drained of what little energy I had. And it was odd, getting dressed (or rather un-dressed, and into those drafty hospital gowns) my jaw started to clack, that "I'm extremely cold, freezing my butt off here" shaking and chattering of the teeth, but I felt fine. I mean, I didn't feel cold. My mom said my hands were hot, and in fact, they were sort of turning red, which is big because my hands are rather pale. The bed was hot, the sheets were too much. But as they talked to me, getting me to talk about random things, I started, slowly, ever so gradually, to regain feeling in my limbs (and don't mistake my perfunctory description, the 'calming down' part took about thirty, and much more, minutes). Pretty soon it was just the tips of my fingers, and a little bit of my left hand. This took a while, because, as both the nurse and the doctor said, it takes a lot longer for the symptoms to go away than it does for them to come. Don't I know it.

And this, my good reader, is all because I thought about my breathing too much. Obviously my body won't simply stop breathing, my heart won't simply stop beating (another thing the doctor assured me quite profusely, and in all honestly, I know it's a no brainer, that fact. I'm quite aware that it won't, or rather can't, simply stop on me, for no reason, I just needed to be sure, and be assured by them). It's all in my head, it's all up there. The idea is to focus on the other stuff: homework, music, guys, day, book, etc. God, if only C. were here, it would make this all so much easier. Unfortunately, I haven't heard from him in weeks.

Now all I need to do is quit having these moments (which now number at two) where I let my
'anxiety' and my panicking overwhelm me so entirely. It's not the best thing to experience. It was probably on the level of asthma attack, but higher. After, with asthma, you'll just faint dead away, see white. With hyperventilating, you cramp up, your muscles seize, and you go numb, you can't move or feel at all, except that blinding thought of "what if my lungs go numb too?" before you eventually pass out. Oh yes, much worse than an asthma attack, of which I've also had two.

It's late, it's Friday the 13th, I've had my share of the scary shit, and I want to go to bed. I've experienced your typical, superstitious and categorized "number holiday." I'm good for another seventeen years. Bring on the good stuff, some good dreams, some decent sleep, and nothing more.

Wish upon a star,
One of those stars we cannot see,
And hope for something more, something like:
You, never gone from me.