When I started having panic attacks, before I got my medication sorted out and got things under some kind of control, I could not sleep. I could not eat. I could not even drink water without it affecting me. It went on like that for several weeks and it was one of the worst stretches of my life.
What I remember most from that time is being up at three or four in the morning and being in a bad way. My dog would be there, and I would bring her out with me, just holding her, hugging that little body close, rubbing her fur, telling her please help me. Just saying it out loud to her. And she was present. That was it. She was just there, and it meant more than I can put into words. She will never know what those moments did for me, but I am grateful for every single one of them.
The last time things got really bad, I laid down next to my wife and held her hand. Just that. Holding her hand helped me calm down. I love her very much. She brings me comfort in a way that is hard to explain but easy to feel.
Friends tried to help too, and I appreciated every bit of it. But at the end of the day, what actually got me through was medication. I hope someday I can reduce it or maybe not need it at all, but right now I need it, and I am leaning on it without apology. There is no shame in that.
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