I don't know why I'm writing here but I guess I need to vent somewhere, and if anyone happens to read this and has advice or insight, I could use some right now.
My death anxiety has been worse than ever lately. "Death anxiety" doesn't even feel like a strong enough term for how I'm feeling. I've been averaging 2 or 3 panic attacks a day. After the first particularly bad one, I ended up going to the ER because I was having chest pain and my blood pressure was almost180/110. That was nearly two weeks ago. The ER doctor wrote me a prescription for Ativan, which was supposed to help calm me down. I've been trying to ration them to last long enough until my regular anxiety medication starts working again (I was off of it during my pregnancy and doing well up until recently), but they're not helping much anyway.
I feel like I'm going mad, like the pressure and tension are forcing me apart at the seams, and I'm only holding it together because I have Zelda to take care of. Otherwise, I'd be sleeping my days away or drinking myself silly in an effort to forget my own mortality.
I don't understand how the vast majority of people (particularly non-religious people) can go about their lives and not worry about the fact that all of it is going to end and no one knows what comes after -- whether it's just oblivion, non-existence, nothingness. It doesn't help to consider the fact that I must have experienced said oblivion before I was born. It doesn't help to think that I'll be dead and I won't know the difference. It just makes me feel sick and it makes it hard to breathe. It's not something I can comprehend, and it sends me into full-blown panic mode. Just writing this is physically painful and turning me into a ball of tension and anxiety.
I keep trying to tell myself that I've got decades left. Other than my blood pressure, I'm in relatively good health. I should be happy. I'm living the life I always hoped for. I have a beautiful daughter, a supportive husband, a comfortable home -- a good, stable life. And my mind is preoccupied with the fact that it'll all end one day. I'm too busy worrying about my inevitable death that I'm barely living. And other than hoping that my medication kicks in soon, I don't know what to do about that. Distraction only works for so long, talking myself down when the panic sets in is fruitless, and talking about my anxiety seems to make it worse. I could barely get the words out when I was trying to explain to my new doctor why I was on anxiety medication to begin with and why I suddenly need it again.
But anyway, I've just been needing to get this out. Maybe there's someone here who understands the feeling and has learned to cope in some way I haven't thought of. More likely, this will go unread, because dA just isn't the place it used to be. But I needed to say it.