Who me?! Panic?

Initially, this blog post was supposed to be another Average Girl’s Guide post but I couldn’t figure out how to guide someone else through agita (commonly known as anxiety in English) when I can’t even get a grasp on it myself. Instead, I’ll just talk about panic attacks and hope someone reading this can relate to my craziness. 

You know that shocking jolt in your chest followed by increased perspiration and your heart rate tripling? This my friends is the beginning stages of a panic attack and if you don’t get it together within the next 3.5 seconds, you’re done for. It goes without saying that I am a notorious freaker-outer.

For my fellow restaurant colleagues, we know this feeling all too well especially when you are in the middle of a Saturday night shit storm, you’re so far in the weeds you can’t think about your next task and then you realize you forgot to ring in a four-top table’s order including a medium-well filet mignon. You just died. And when having to face the chef after ringing it in on the fly, you have to prepare yourelf for what they will call you because it’s not going to be pretty…and you might cry after they go Gordon Ramsay on your ass.

It seems I get this excruciating pain too frequently and in situations that vary from not being able to find my iPhone in my Mary Poppins bag as soon as I get on the highway to thinking a tractor trailer will ram my car while trying to take a left turn or even forgetting to water my Bonsai tree with its weekly eight ice cube ritual. Needless to say, I have a problem and I’m not sure how to fix it.

I do, however, believe I am able to control the attacks a miniscule bit, mostly when I’m waitressing. Breathing does a world of wonders and I’ve realized to….. just….. remember….. to…… breathe…… It will all be over soon, hopefully. Also, having epilepsy, I need to try and keep calm as much as possible because I could throw myself into a seizure, and ain’t nobody got time for that.

Last month, a pipe burst in the upstairs unit of my apartment and all I can say is a panic attack is an understatement for how I reacted. Water was rushing everywhere while Jake and I are scrambling trying to move and save our belongings before getting drenched in god knows what kind of contaminated water. It was like Niagara Falls in my apartment and was a sight to see. I was in my plush robe, hair a hot mess, one slipper on and slipping and falling in every spot of the apartment. I managed to get a huge scar on my foot which will definitely be a keeper.

Jake has been a huge help in calming down my nerves because after five years, he has learned how to help me during my childish freakouts. Thanks for putting up with my antics!

My brother took the liberty to get my twin sister and I books for Christmas which was a very nice gesture, and I thank him dearly, but it wouldn’t be Ronnie if it wasn’t a comical yet accurate gift. There was one clear difference: Samantha’s was a “Keep Calm and Carry On” coffee table book while mine was “Now Panic and Freak Out.” This is very fitting for the two of us because we are clearly polar opposites in the way we react in stressful situations. Don’t let her fool you, Samantha can be just as crazy as me sometimes.

While sorting through the countless quotes from everyone between Jimi Hendrix and Al Gore, I found these two…

Looking back on my apartment debacle, I’ve learned to laugh at my actions because if not, someone will do it anyways, and in my case, it’s most likely my brother because that’s what big brothers are for. As for my panic attacks, I’d like to think I could conquer them but only time will tell. Until then, myself and the majority of Baffoni women will continue to be nervous Nancy’s and panic about anxiety. 

This book did put me at ease, though, because it is comforting to know I’m not the only freaker-outer out there. As the Italian’s say, agita should be my middle name.