A New Experience For Steve
Posted 08-18-2012 at 08:55 AM by KatieGal
My last few blog entries have been about my love life, which includes a man named Steve. As I have said in other blog entries, Steve is much older than me, but there are still things I can show him that he has never seen. One example came Thursday evening, and no matter what you might be anticipating concerning that last sentence, I’ll bet you are wrong.
Steve was outside changing my car’s oil, and replacing some kind of filter while I was inside watching TV with disinterest. For some reason the conditions were right for one of my anxiety attacks, and that’s exactly what overtook me. There isn’t much to be seen from the outside when I have one of these attacks. On this occasion I turned off the TV, sat on a small chair, and stared at the floor. Internally the attack went into its full fury and I was propelled into what was essentially a nightmare while wide awake. If that sounds odd, well, there is no good way to describe a full-blown anxiety attack. It’s a little like trying to explain the concept of color to a person who has never had eyesight. Suffice to say, they are awful.
About five minutes into the attack, Steve came in and saw me sitting on the chair, staring at the floor, my body rigid. I might have been whispering encouraging words to myself too. Sometimes I will do that. Anyway, Steve said something to me but I could do no more than dismiss whatever he said with two or three quick head shakes. He knew at that point something was going on so he stepped near me and asked what the trouble was. I told him in a kind of hurried mumble that I was having an anxiety attack. Steve quickly kneeled in front of me, put a reassuring hand on my knee, and asked me what he could do. I murmured that there was nothing he could do, and that he shouldn’t be worried, the attack would pass in ten or fifteen minutes.
Steve disappeared for a brief time and when he returned he was carrying for me a bowl of ice cream. If I were not in the throes of an anxiety attack, I would have both appreciated the overture, and undoubtedly laughed about it. But I was not suffering from tonsillitis, I was having an anxiety attack, and ice cream was neither what I needed, or wanted. Without speaking, I waved away the ice cream.
About ten minutes later I could feel the attack start to ebb. I think I stood up and went to the window, then, another minute later, I stepped outside and took some deep, relaxing breaths. Steve silently kept a steady eye on me from the door. Finally I turned his direction, smiled, and told him that I was okay, the nightmare had passed.
When I first met Steve, I told him that I suffer from a relatively mild anxiety disorder. I warned him that if we found that we had something in common, and saw each other enough times, sooner or later he was going to see some aspect of my disorder. I assured him that if, and when, an anxiety attack hits me and he is there, he should not worry, that I have experienced many of them, and that I would know how to manage it.
Steve handled my attack pretty well. For the most part he did not overreact and coddle me. He stepped back and let the attack run its course, which is exactly what I wanted him to do.
Later in the evening I jokingly told Steve that the ice cream really was a sweet gesture, silly, but sweet.
Steve was outside changing my car’s oil, and replacing some kind of filter while I was inside watching TV with disinterest. For some reason the conditions were right for one of my anxiety attacks, and that’s exactly what overtook me. There isn’t much to be seen from the outside when I have one of these attacks. On this occasion I turned off the TV, sat on a small chair, and stared at the floor. Internally the attack went into its full fury and I was propelled into what was essentially a nightmare while wide awake. If that sounds odd, well, there is no good way to describe a full-blown anxiety attack. It’s a little like trying to explain the concept of color to a person who has never had eyesight. Suffice to say, they are awful.
About five minutes into the attack, Steve came in and saw me sitting on the chair, staring at the floor, my body rigid. I might have been whispering encouraging words to myself too. Sometimes I will do that. Anyway, Steve said something to me but I could do no more than dismiss whatever he said with two or three quick head shakes. He knew at that point something was going on so he stepped near me and asked what the trouble was. I told him in a kind of hurried mumble that I was having an anxiety attack. Steve quickly kneeled in front of me, put a reassuring hand on my knee, and asked me what he could do. I murmured that there was nothing he could do, and that he shouldn’t be worried, the attack would pass in ten or fifteen minutes.
Steve disappeared for a brief time and when he returned he was carrying for me a bowl of ice cream. If I were not in the throes of an anxiety attack, I would have both appreciated the overture, and undoubtedly laughed about it. But I was not suffering from tonsillitis, I was having an anxiety attack, and ice cream was neither what I needed, or wanted. Without speaking, I waved away the ice cream.
About ten minutes later I could feel the attack start to ebb. I think I stood up and went to the window, then, another minute later, I stepped outside and took some deep, relaxing breaths. Steve silently kept a steady eye on me from the door. Finally I turned his direction, smiled, and told him that I was okay, the nightmare had passed.
When I first met Steve, I told him that I suffer from a relatively mild anxiety disorder. I warned him that if we found that we had something in common, and saw each other enough times, sooner or later he was going to see some aspect of my disorder. I assured him that if, and when, an anxiety attack hits me and he is there, he should not worry, that I have experienced many of them, and that I would know how to manage it.
Steve handled my attack pretty well. For the most part he did not overreact and coddle me. He stepped back and let the attack run its course, which is exactly what I wanted him to do.
Later in the evening I jokingly told Steve that the ice cream really was a sweet gesture, silly, but sweet.
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