An anxiety attack woke me last night. My eyes popped open to a body slick with sweat and a racing pulse. When this happens it seems to come out of a dead sleep. I am on the run. Not literally on the run. I didn’t physically move out of the bed. I stayed put with my thoughts flying and my body rocking while my fingers measured the thumps in my neck. My routine is to take 1.5mg of ativan around 6:00 p.m. every night. Yesterday I did not keep my routine. I was at work, it was 10:30 a.m. and things were becoming difficult. I couldn’t concentrate. I was shaky, trembling a bit and I could feel I was on the edge of having panic problem. I opened my pill case and plucked 2mg of ativan from Thursday’s chamber. I held the white disc between my thumb and index finger for a heart beat, tossed it in my mouth and washed it down with black coffee. Yep, all 2mg. Within an hour the blessed little pharmaceutical had taken my worries away. My day was snappy, breezy, maybe even a little fluffy. My sales calls were easier. Listening to my boss about her family was bearable (she said I was funny). Then…quitting time! 3:45 p.m. and no one should be home. I needed to rest my medicated body. I walked, or stumbled, in the door to find my youngest son sitting on the sofa with his laptop on his knees. Oh… um… I told him, ‘I didn’t think anyone was going to be home and I made plans to go to bed when I got home so I’m going to go lay down okay?’ He nodded and said, ‘it’s okay mom, go ahead.’ I teared up and began wondering, once again, what I must be doing to my kids (the subject of my next post). Guiltily I made my way to my room, pressed the bedroom door closed and dropped into an uneasy sleep filled with bizarre and disturbing dreams. I remember once taking darvocet for pneumonia and having dreams about a severed head in a brown grocery bag. These were the types of dreams I was having until I woke up to my husband’s hands roaming about my body. Apparently I had removed my all my clothing before sliding into bed. I abandoned my sleep around 6:30 p.m. to help with dinner and decided to forgo my routine night-time ativan. This was the reason for the middle of the night anxiety. I was in a fog the remainder of the evening. The thought of going back to my bed to sleep made me nauseous and for some reason angry. I stayed awake until 11:00 p.m. watching Family Guy with my son, fell asleep on our love seat, finally went to my bedroom at 12:18 a.m. when my son went out for a ‘late-night snack’ and well, then the anxiety attack at 3:23 a.m. Do you ever feel like one day is 72 hours long instead of 24?