I was talking to a friend a few days ago, telling her about lying in bed and listening to my heart pound and she characterized it later in the conversation as a “panic attack.” I had never thought of it that way, primarily because I do not hyperventilate.
I feel that old, familiar foot-standing-in-the-middle-of-my-chest feeling and wonder if this is what a heart attack might feel like. Sometimes, I pray to die simply because walking around feeling that way is truly oppressive.
It can be triggered. Today, for example, is haul-away day, the day to get rid of as much as possible before moving. Part of me feels that everything going on is wrong. This is my life and I hate having to do all of this myself more than words can say. Barry does not participate. I don’t know how things are going to go. The anger is palpable. Literally.
Logically, moving is not just right—it is non-negotiable. I could not take care of the house and Barry, so I sold the house. Now it is time to start vacating it. This is all very reasonable. Moving is essential. Snow is not far away. I have driven to Grand Rapids in late October in whiteout conditions when I was going to school. This needs to happen soon.
But my emotions are not cooperating. Meditating becomes nothing more than mindfulness of my chest aching. Whether my mind thinks something or is empty, the physical sensations are right there. Do other people feel this way? Is this normal?