I like to keep a full calendar, to have something in each day that gives me a reason to get up and go. I've always said that the first step in dying is not getting out of bed; I get out of bed each day, even on those days when staying in bed seems like the best thing to do. Having something booked everyday helps.
Today is a good example. Once again I had a bad night last night. This inability to sleep at nights is fast becoming thematic for me. I go to bed, I doze on and off, and finally, sometime between 4:00 and 6:00 AM, I actually achieve slumber. After nights like these, getting up in the mornings is tough. Now add the absence of something in my schedule, and I have no reason to get up and get going. So I stay in bed; today I finally got out of bed at 2:30 PM.
When I am in bed like this, I rest. Given that ALS leaves me in an almost constant state of exhaustion, the idea of rest is continually appealing. At any given moment, I am fully capable and happy to lay my head down and simulate sleep. Of course I am actually just resting, dozing and lazing about, until I need to get up again. Today, I did just that.
Now that I am up, I will sit about, have a shower, watch some TV and generally do nothing. Then, at 6:00 PM, I will head to the Unicorn Pub for my trivia night. I will stay out until about 10:00 PM, then come home and go to bed, perhaps after reading for a bit. By midnight I will realize that sleep will once again be slow in coming. I will close my eyes and rest, continually rest, until slumber arrives.
It's not much of a day, but at least it has something in it. I will see my friends tonight and enjoy a social evening. That's enough to get me out of bed today. That's all it takes; a bit of life in my life. But I am going to talk to the doctor about a sleeping aide.
Tuesday, 7 October 2014
Monday, 6 October 2014
Whole Lot Of Shakin' Goin' On
My hands shake a lot these days. The odd thing is that they don't shake with gross motor control, so you don't see it so much when I pick up a glass or pass a plate. They shake with fine motor control, so you can really see it when I do things like open a bottle top or peel an egg. It is another one of the oddities of ALS, that the fine motor control is what goes first.
The most difficult part of the shaking is that I drop things. Once again, it's not the big things that I drop. If I take the lid off of a bottle of soda, I can hold on to the soda just fine. It's the cap that goes flying. I can drive just fine but my hands shake when I try to put the key in the ignition. I spill almost every time I pour something; the container is safe in my hands, I shake and spill when I pour.
This kind of loss of muscle control is the beginnings of a more serious event, one that will end with the total loss of muscular control in my hands and arms. It is the equivalent of toe drop in my legs. It is not, however, the only kind of muscle challenge that goes with this illness. There are actually four different kinds of shaking going on.
The first, the one that I am talking about here, is a result of general loss of muscle tone. It is the weakening of my arms that causes my hands to shake, even though my hands themselves remain reasonably strong. This is a kind of spasticity occurring in those muscles I have which still function; it's the kind we all get now and again when we overwork a particular muscle or set of muscles. In other words, it's normal and we all get it.
The second kind of shaking happens mostly when I get up in the morning; it's called "clonus". It is a violent kind of shaking usually triggered by muscle extension or reflex action, like stretching when you first get up. It occurs across my upper body, most noticeably in my hands and arms, but also in my neck and head. Clonus is thought to be a result of damage to the upper motor neurons, something that clearly happens with ALS.
The third kind of shaking is simple muscle spasm, also known as spasticity. This happens most often during my Range of Motion exercises, what I call my stretches. When any of my weakened or dead muscles are stretched, they spasm. This means they contract and release rapidly, uncontrollably. Most spastic episodes happen when my care workers are pushing my muscles hard, particularly my hamstring muscles. Spasms also happen when I overwork any muscles on my own, such as when I try to hold something heavy for too long, such as a jug of milk or a box of wine bottles, as mentioned earlier.
Finally, the fourth kind of shaking is my old friend, the "fasiculation". This is the small contraction and release of muscles in those portions of my body under attack by ALS where there is still some level of muscle activity on my part. These mild muscle movements are a forewarning, telling me that bad things are happening. There were plenty in my legs before they died; they now happen in many parts of my upper body including my arms, my diaphragm, my eyelids, my cheeks, and so on. They are just wierd; they happen all on their own and I get to watch.
All in all, there are a lot of things that make me shake. So there's a whole lot of shakin' goin' on.
The most difficult part of the shaking is that I drop things. Once again, it's not the big things that I drop. If I take the lid off of a bottle of soda, I can hold on to the soda just fine. It's the cap that goes flying. I can drive just fine but my hands shake when I try to put the key in the ignition. I spill almost every time I pour something; the container is safe in my hands, I shake and spill when I pour.
This kind of loss of muscle control is the beginnings of a more serious event, one that will end with the total loss of muscular control in my hands and arms. It is the equivalent of toe drop in my legs. It is not, however, the only kind of muscle challenge that goes with this illness. There are actually four different kinds of shaking going on.
The first, the one that I am talking about here, is a result of general loss of muscle tone. It is the weakening of my arms that causes my hands to shake, even though my hands themselves remain reasonably strong. This is a kind of spasticity occurring in those muscles I have which still function; it's the kind we all get now and again when we overwork a particular muscle or set of muscles. In other words, it's normal and we all get it.
The second kind of shaking happens mostly when I get up in the morning; it's called "clonus". It is a violent kind of shaking usually triggered by muscle extension or reflex action, like stretching when you first get up. It occurs across my upper body, most noticeably in my hands and arms, but also in my neck and head. Clonus is thought to be a result of damage to the upper motor neurons, something that clearly happens with ALS.
The third kind of shaking is simple muscle spasm, also known as spasticity. This happens most often during my Range of Motion exercises, what I call my stretches. When any of my weakened or dead muscles are stretched, they spasm. This means they contract and release rapidly, uncontrollably. Most spastic episodes happen when my care workers are pushing my muscles hard, particularly my hamstring muscles. Spasms also happen when I overwork any muscles on my own, such as when I try to hold something heavy for too long, such as a jug of milk or a box of wine bottles, as mentioned earlier.
Finally, the fourth kind of shaking is my old friend, the "fasiculation". This is the small contraction and release of muscles in those portions of my body under attack by ALS where there is still some level of muscle activity on my part. These mild muscle movements are a forewarning, telling me that bad things are happening. There were plenty in my legs before they died; they now happen in many parts of my upper body including my arms, my diaphragm, my eyelids, my cheeks, and so on. They are just wierd; they happen all on their own and I get to watch.
All in all, there are a lot of things that make me shake. So there's a whole lot of shakin' goin' on.
Sunday, 5 October 2014
My Best Investment Ever
I've been thinking a lot about money the last few days, mostly triggered by my Statement of Account from the Canada Revenue Agency and a recent parking ticket. There is a reason they call ALS the "bankruptcy disease". When I got sick, my costs took off, my living expenses remained the same, and my income plummeted. This is the pattern for most PALS. I've been thinking about it a bit more this morning, but also a bit differently.
I had a financial plan for retirement. It was pretty simple. Pay off the house. A few years before retirement, buy new vehicles so I could pay them off before retirement. Maybe even buy a newer boat if things worked out well. Hit age 65 with a mortgage free home, reasonably new vehicles, and about $350,000 to $500,000 in our joint RRSP's. I was well on the way to this, and then came the financially devastating divorce.
Now it's a race between me and my RRSP to see which runs out first. In the beginning I thought my RRSP would live longer than me; now I am not so sure. I seem to be doing better than expected; not a lot better, but enough that I am fairly sure that when my RRSP runs out next June or July, I will still be chugging along. At that point things will be very difficult; we'll have to see how it works out. All I know for sure is that Visa and the CRA are going to get a bit of a shock.
As I look at how I did investing over the years, I must say I am fairly pleased with myself. I made money on my home, or rather my wife and I made money there; I've made money on both the apartments I owned when separated from my wife. I did well with the investments in my RRSP. I had savings in the bank and had finally purchased the vehicle of my dreams. Then came ALS and it put a stop to all that.
I know others who have done much better than me financially; made more money, kept more of what they made; perhaps lived more frugally. I don't envy them nor am a jealous of what they have. I wonder at times if the price they have paid for having that money was worth what it cost them to keep it, but that is a different thing.
The thing that I have done, the place where I have invested most heavily, has been in my children. I have always tried to be generous with them, giving them opportunities and experiences, taking them on trips and travel, helping them whenever I could. I have always felt that the only real investments in life are the intangible ones. Sure, I would have like to have made and kept more money, but never for a moment would I have traded that money for the happiness of my children.
I am leaving soon. I will leave nothing behind me. Some will think that irresponsible. Some will think that laudable. I think it is simply another result of ALS. Without this disease I would still be investing in my children, still be helping them, still be working towards a future that is better for them than my past was for me. My children are the best investment I ever made.
I had a financial plan for retirement. It was pretty simple. Pay off the house. A few years before retirement, buy new vehicles so I could pay them off before retirement. Maybe even buy a newer boat if things worked out well. Hit age 65 with a mortgage free home, reasonably new vehicles, and about $350,000 to $500,000 in our joint RRSP's. I was well on the way to this, and then came the financially devastating divorce.
Now it's a race between me and my RRSP to see which runs out first. In the beginning I thought my RRSP would live longer than me; now I am not so sure. I seem to be doing better than expected; not a lot better, but enough that I am fairly sure that when my RRSP runs out next June or July, I will still be chugging along. At that point things will be very difficult; we'll have to see how it works out. All I know for sure is that Visa and the CRA are going to get a bit of a shock.
As I look at how I did investing over the years, I must say I am fairly pleased with myself. I made money on my home, or rather my wife and I made money there; I've made money on both the apartments I owned when separated from my wife. I did well with the investments in my RRSP. I had savings in the bank and had finally purchased the vehicle of my dreams. Then came ALS and it put a stop to all that.
I know others who have done much better than me financially; made more money, kept more of what they made; perhaps lived more frugally. I don't envy them nor am a jealous of what they have. I wonder at times if the price they have paid for having that money was worth what it cost them to keep it, but that is a different thing.
The thing that I have done, the place where I have invested most heavily, has been in my children. I have always tried to be generous with them, giving them opportunities and experiences, taking them on trips and travel, helping them whenever I could. I have always felt that the only real investments in life are the intangible ones. Sure, I would have like to have made and kept more money, but never for a moment would I have traded that money for the happiness of my children.
I am leaving soon. I will leave nothing behind me. Some will think that irresponsible. Some will think that laudable. I think it is simply another result of ALS. Without this disease I would still be investing in my children, still be helping them, still be working towards a future that is better for them than my past was for me. My children are the best investment I ever made.
Saturday, 4 October 2014
I Can't Remember
Memory is a funny thing. It works for some things and not for others; some stuff just sticks with you, whether by trauma or joy it is impactful enough to withstand the test of time. Other things pass from you, whether you want them to or not.
I can remember the day my Dad died, so clearly, my daughter sitting next to him holding his hand, Margaret, his long time partner standing next, his sons and grandson beside the bed, friends and loved ones at the door. I remember the second to last breath, the long pause, and that last breath that took us by surprise. I remember this; it was powerful.
On the other hand I don't remember all that clearly the births of my four children; they conflate themselves in my mind, one mixing with the other until I am uncertain which was which. I fail to remember the names of many of the people I used to know when I live in Abbotsford although a few will never leave me. I remember very little of my childhood before age 8.
Then there are the current things, the daily things I forget to do. I go to the store with a list and forget to read it, thus forgetting something on the list. I can't remember appointments without tracking them in my calendar, regularly making appointments for days when homecare is in or when someone is coming over. As someone said to me recently, that is why you have Outlook.
There are the things I wish I could remember. I wish I could remember the last time I stood up on my own, without a lift or pushing up on my dresser or using the M-rail on my bed. I wish I could remember the last day I walked unaided, without holding onto a rail or a helper or a cane. I wish I could remember the last time I looked into my cupboards in a straight line, seeing all that was on the shelf in a single glance. I wish I could remember what it felt like to be vertical. I should have marked those days, except I did not know then what they were.
It's not that life like this is bad; it's just different. I knew it another way once, a way where I was tall and strong. I can remember that. I can remember standing at the helm of my boat, jumping out of my truck to shoot a moose, climbing a hillside in search of deer. I can remember walking the streets of Paris and London unassisted and steady. I can remember climbing Glastonbury Tor in England and hiking the Goat Mountain Trail in Manning Park.
Yet I cannot remember the last time I lifted myself up, stood tall, and walked out the door. It seems like a long time ago.
I can remember the day my Dad died, so clearly, my daughter sitting next to him holding his hand, Margaret, his long time partner standing next, his sons and grandson beside the bed, friends and loved ones at the door. I remember the second to last breath, the long pause, and that last breath that took us by surprise. I remember this; it was powerful.
On the other hand I don't remember all that clearly the births of my four children; they conflate themselves in my mind, one mixing with the other until I am uncertain which was which. I fail to remember the names of many of the people I used to know when I live in Abbotsford although a few will never leave me. I remember very little of my childhood before age 8.
Then there are the current things, the daily things I forget to do. I go to the store with a list and forget to read it, thus forgetting something on the list. I can't remember appointments without tracking them in my calendar, regularly making appointments for days when homecare is in or when someone is coming over. As someone said to me recently, that is why you have Outlook.
There are the things I wish I could remember. I wish I could remember the last time I stood up on my own, without a lift or pushing up on my dresser or using the M-rail on my bed. I wish I could remember the last day I walked unaided, without holding onto a rail or a helper or a cane. I wish I could remember the last time I looked into my cupboards in a straight line, seeing all that was on the shelf in a single glance. I wish I could remember what it felt like to be vertical. I should have marked those days, except I did not know then what they were.
It's not that life like this is bad; it's just different. I knew it another way once, a way where I was tall and strong. I can remember that. I can remember standing at the helm of my boat, jumping out of my truck to shoot a moose, climbing a hillside in search of deer. I can remember walking the streets of Paris and London unassisted and steady. I can remember climbing Glastonbury Tor in England and hiking the Goat Mountain Trail in Manning Park.
Yet I cannot remember the last time I lifted myself up, stood tall, and walked out the door. It seems like a long time ago.
Friday, 3 October 2014
Tea Tray Trouble
Sometimes things just bite you in the ass. I have been having trouble transporting things like plates and coffee cups and such. It's hard to do with one hand one the wheelchair and something in the other hand. I work at it, but it is getting more and more difficult. This is how I came to drop and break one of my favourite coffee cups the other day; I was trying to balance it on my lap while wheeling myself into the kitchen. It didn't work out well.
I've been doing this ever since I went into the wheelchair, this balancing act with things on my legs or lap. Up until recently it has gone reasonably well. Now, however, there are two separate problems with which I must deal. First, my legs have lost enough muscle strength that I can no longer adjust on the fly by. So if something wiggles or slips, I have no way to stop it. Second, my left leg is even more flaccid than my right, so if I put something on my lap across both legs, it is off balance and tends to slide.
Yesterday I wanted to solve this problem. I wanted to buy a bean-bag bottomed lap desk with a rim around the edge. These are exactly what we had for our children when they were little. They could rest it on their lap while on a drive or while playing, putting crayons and other toys on it, and those items thusly placed would not fall off, thanks to the edge of the desk. Unfortunately the advent of laptop devices, even for the smallest of children these days, means that this type of desk, with the bean bag bottom, flat top and edged, is no longer produced. Now almost all of these things are produced with edgeless flat tops, designed for placing electronic devices such as laptops, tablets, or DVD players.
What I did find was the classic tea tray with a plastic surface and wooden edge. However, as it is a classic, it has legs on the bottom and not a bean bag. This is important to note, as a bean bag bottom can be adjusted to allow for the unevenness of my legs, being pushed higher on one side than the other. The classic tea tray has a rigid, wooden bottom and thus cannot be adjusted to be made flat. Nonetheless, it seemed to be worth a try. I bought it.
I brought my new helping device home, unpacked it and carried it into the kitchen, placing it carefully on the counter. I arranged my lunch, getting out some leftover Chinese food and heating it up in the microwave. I put the tray on my lap and turned to get the food off the counter. The position of the tray and my lap meant I had to lean forward. As I leaned forward, the tray fell off my lap.
I picked up the tray and got a clean fork. Then I carefully reached for, and retrieved my plate, placing it carefully on my tray. That's when I noticed that the smooth surface of the tray didn't have enough friction to hold the plate, my drink, and my fork in place. They all slid forward and to the left, the low point in my lap. No beanbag, no adjustment, no level surface.
I moved carefully, finally getting my lunch into the living room. I transferred my glass to the table and tried eating from the tray; it mostly worked. What I have learned is that I need a gripping surface on my tray, and I need to keep looking for that beanbag one, the one my kids had. Sometimes newer just ain't better; sometimes things bite back.
I've been doing this ever since I went into the wheelchair, this balancing act with things on my legs or lap. Up until recently it has gone reasonably well. Now, however, there are two separate problems with which I must deal. First, my legs have lost enough muscle strength that I can no longer adjust on the fly by. So if something wiggles or slips, I have no way to stop it. Second, my left leg is even more flaccid than my right, so if I put something on my lap across both legs, it is off balance and tends to slide.
Yesterday I wanted to solve this problem. I wanted to buy a bean-bag bottomed lap desk with a rim around the edge. These are exactly what we had for our children when they were little. They could rest it on their lap while on a drive or while playing, putting crayons and other toys on it, and those items thusly placed would not fall off, thanks to the edge of the desk. Unfortunately the advent of laptop devices, even for the smallest of children these days, means that this type of desk, with the bean bag bottom, flat top and edged, is no longer produced. Now almost all of these things are produced with edgeless flat tops, designed for placing electronic devices such as laptops, tablets, or DVD players.
What I did find was the classic tea tray with a plastic surface and wooden edge. However, as it is a classic, it has legs on the bottom and not a bean bag. This is important to note, as a bean bag bottom can be adjusted to allow for the unevenness of my legs, being pushed higher on one side than the other. The classic tea tray has a rigid, wooden bottom and thus cannot be adjusted to be made flat. Nonetheless, it seemed to be worth a try. I bought it.
I brought my new helping device home, unpacked it and carried it into the kitchen, placing it carefully on the counter. I arranged my lunch, getting out some leftover Chinese food and heating it up in the microwave. I put the tray on my lap and turned to get the food off the counter. The position of the tray and my lap meant I had to lean forward. As I leaned forward, the tray fell off my lap.
I picked up the tray and got a clean fork. Then I carefully reached for, and retrieved my plate, placing it carefully on my tray. That's when I noticed that the smooth surface of the tray didn't have enough friction to hold the plate, my drink, and my fork in place. They all slid forward and to the left, the low point in my lap. No beanbag, no adjustment, no level surface.
I moved carefully, finally getting my lunch into the living room. I transferred my glass to the table and tried eating from the tray; it mostly worked. What I have learned is that I need a gripping surface on my tray, and I need to keep looking for that beanbag one, the one my kids had. Sometimes newer just ain't better; sometimes things bite back.
Thursday, 2 October 2014
New Drugs, Old Problems
This is my first day on my increased medication for PBA. When I started the Venlafaxine last February, it had an impact almost immediately. Within a day or two the panic attacks and unexplained tears stopped completely. It seemed almost miraculous to me that something so emotionally debilitating could be resolved so simply. Here I go again.
Of course there are other issues to be dealt wit here. For example I think I still owe apologies to a few people. I am also not sure how long it will take for the higher dose to have an impact. I am already on this drug and clearly my body is building up a resistance to it; I am told this happens with most anti-depressants. In addition, while this dose is double what I was on before, it is only the normal dosage; I was taking a half dose prior to this. So I suspect it will take a bit longer to have an effect on me. Until then, I am going to continue with a reduced social schedule, at least until I feel like I have a better sense of control over my emotions.
The final part of this new regime is alcohol. I've noticed a substantial increase in my drinking over the last few months. I am now convinced that a large part of this is simple self-medication. The sad thing is that alcohol depresses your body's systems, counteracting the beneficial effects of the medication. When I started this regime back in February, I was asked to keep it to a couple of drinks a night; there is a known interaction with Venlafaxine and alcohol. I did, for a bit. Once I found no ill effects, I moved up the scale to three. Then, a few months back, it started to get worse and worse.
So now I am going back to healthy living, or at least as healthy as I can. I will once again reduce my beer consumption when I go out, and my wine consumption at home. I will do as the doctors say and keep it to one or two in the evenings until we see what happens. After that, I may go back up to three in an evening. Beyond that, it is pretty clear that there is danger there.
It seems almost unfair. I have a disease that will kill me soon enough, yet the drugs I take to control the wicked side effects of this disease force me to live a healthy life. I don't want to live a healthy life; it is much more fun to be naughty, an all round bad boy. I want to ride a motorcycle, wear a leather jacket, get into fights, drink too much, have lots of women... wait, I couldn't do that even when I didn't have ALS.
Perhaps what I really want is to get rid of this stupid emotional lability, and to feel safe again. It would seem to be the best thing to do, at least for now.
Of course there are other issues to be dealt wit here. For example I think I still owe apologies to a few people. I am also not sure how long it will take for the higher dose to have an impact. I am already on this drug and clearly my body is building up a resistance to it; I am told this happens with most anti-depressants. In addition, while this dose is double what I was on before, it is only the normal dosage; I was taking a half dose prior to this. So I suspect it will take a bit longer to have an effect on me. Until then, I am going to continue with a reduced social schedule, at least until I feel like I have a better sense of control over my emotions.
The final part of this new regime is alcohol. I've noticed a substantial increase in my drinking over the last few months. I am now convinced that a large part of this is simple self-medication. The sad thing is that alcohol depresses your body's systems, counteracting the beneficial effects of the medication. When I started this regime back in February, I was asked to keep it to a couple of drinks a night; there is a known interaction with Venlafaxine and alcohol. I did, for a bit. Once I found no ill effects, I moved up the scale to three. Then, a few months back, it started to get worse and worse.
So now I am going back to healthy living, or at least as healthy as I can. I will once again reduce my beer consumption when I go out, and my wine consumption at home. I will do as the doctors say and keep it to one or two in the evenings until we see what happens. After that, I may go back up to three in an evening. Beyond that, it is pretty clear that there is danger there.
It seems almost unfair. I have a disease that will kill me soon enough, yet the drugs I take to control the wicked side effects of this disease force me to live a healthy life. I don't want to live a healthy life; it is much more fun to be naughty, an all round bad boy. I want to ride a motorcycle, wear a leather jacket, get into fights, drink too much, have lots of women... wait, I couldn't do that even when I didn't have ALS.
Perhaps what I really want is to get rid of this stupid emotional lability, and to feel safe again. It would seem to be the best thing to do, at least for now.
Wednesday, 1 October 2014
Mea Culpa, Sort Of
I think I am going to stay at home for a while, cocoon in and reduce my social calendar. There have been a few things over the last couple of weeks which have lead me to suspect that the medication I take for PBA is no longer working. The doctor warned me that this might happen, that my body would likely adjust to the mild anti-depressant that they give me to keep my IEED under control.
This is not my first run-in with this unfortunate condition associated with ALS. I first wrote about it in December last year. I also wrote about it when I started my medication, something called Venlafaxine, back in February. That is when the doctor warned me that we might have to increase the dosage or change the medication at some point. I think we are at that point.
I've noticed over the last several weeks a general decline in my mood, a soft slide into something like depression but not quite. I've also noticed that I am more emotionally needy, although I have always been that way. I've bounced around emotionally quite a bit. Then, finally, last night it happened; a full blown panic attack while sitting in the front seat of my truck, parked in the parking lot at Banker's Hall, on my way to Tuesday night trivia.
I didn't even want to go to trivia last night. I've seen that for a few weeks now, where the effort of doing something simply does not seem to match the rewards. I forced myself to go; perhaps that was the genesis of the panic attack. After it settled down I went to the Unicorn Pub where we play. There, for almost no reason I can understand, my emotions continued to bubble away uncontrollably. At one point, simply in response to a comment by one of my friends, I shouted, loudly, "Hey, give me a break. I'm gonna die in 16 months." Everyone heard it; it was very awkward. Yet there you have it.
I have also found myself, of late, more prone to other inappropriate actions and emotions. I have no control of this; I feel like I am an airplane, spiraling groundward, flames and smoke coming from me, headed for the ultimate crash. I am drinking too much. I am depressed and lonely too much. I am at the risk of engaging in self-pity, but I refuse to go there as much as I can.
I know my outburst last night caused some damage. I suspect other behaviours of late have also caused damage. I hope it is not lasting; I have few bridges left in my life and I cannot afford to burn any of them. To those I hurt, I apologize. To those I embarrass, I apologize. It's all I got.
This is not my first run-in with this unfortunate condition associated with ALS. I first wrote about it in December last year. I also wrote about it when I started my medication, something called Venlafaxine, back in February. That is when the doctor warned me that we might have to increase the dosage or change the medication at some point. I think we are at that point.
I've noticed over the last several weeks a general decline in my mood, a soft slide into something like depression but not quite. I've also noticed that I am more emotionally needy, although I have always been that way. I've bounced around emotionally quite a bit. Then, finally, last night it happened; a full blown panic attack while sitting in the front seat of my truck, parked in the parking lot at Banker's Hall, on my way to Tuesday night trivia.
I didn't even want to go to trivia last night. I've seen that for a few weeks now, where the effort of doing something simply does not seem to match the rewards. I forced myself to go; perhaps that was the genesis of the panic attack. After it settled down I went to the Unicorn Pub where we play. There, for almost no reason I can understand, my emotions continued to bubble away uncontrollably. At one point, simply in response to a comment by one of my friends, I shouted, loudly, "Hey, give me a break. I'm gonna die in 16 months." Everyone heard it; it was very awkward. Yet there you have it.
I have also found myself, of late, more prone to other inappropriate actions and emotions. I have no control of this; I feel like I am an airplane, spiraling groundward, flames and smoke coming from me, headed for the ultimate crash. I am drinking too much. I am depressed and lonely too much. I am at the risk of engaging in self-pity, but I refuse to go there as much as I can.
I know my outburst last night caused some damage. I suspect other behaviours of late have also caused damage. I hope it is not lasting; I have few bridges left in my life and I cannot afford to burn any of them. To those I hurt, I apologize. To those I embarrass, I apologize. It's all I got.
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