Short Story: The Wedding Day
A story about an anxiety attack
There are several experiences with Anxiety that are forever etched in my memory. The first is from when I was an 11th grader in high school. I would get anxiety attacks almost daily from a combination of the health-related issues my father was experiencing, the feelings that came with that, adolescence, the feelings that came with that, and the chaos of high school. I vividly remember crying at the doctor’s office one time that I was trying to make sense of everything. I told my mother, “I just want to live a normal life. That is all I’m asking for. I don’t want to be rich, a celebrity, win the lottery – nothing like that. I just want to be normal and not feel like I’m going crazy.” Later, I found that I was not alone in that sentiment. At the time, I looked around and found nobody that could relate to what I was going through. That made me think I was going crazy. Even people that I have known to suffer from anxiety did not understand it, especially if they did not understand their own anxiety.
Years later, I thought I had a hold on Anxiety. I had her muffled with Xanax in a desolate space at the back of my mind. I was working a part-time job as a substitute teacher, a second part-time job as a copy editor for a student newspaper at the university, and attending the university full-time. I would not really feel anxious because I would anticipate situations that would normally make me anxious and would force Xanax down Anxiety’s throat before getting to those places. I now know that was a big mistake. I was basically shoving Anxiety aside, never listening to what she was really trying to tell me. Emotions demand to be heard. They must be processed then archived, but I did not know any better. I was close to graduating with a bachelor’s degree, had a teaching job lined up, was engaged to a girl I was crazy for, and had just moved into an apartment alone. A few months later, I would be sharing my life with the person I loved. As far as I could see, life was going according to plan and everything was great. There were few excuses to feel anything other than excitement and joy.
My body and mind had a different plan. I found myself holding my fiancé’s hand while lying in the bed of my new apartment hyperventilating and saying, “I’m getting a heart attack! Take me to the hospital, now!” My body felt numb and was getting number. My left arm hurt, and I could not move it. My mouth was dry, and it was hard to articulate any words. My eyes were open wide, but things were looking dark. I was hyperventilating, but I felt I was choking. Eventually, the feeling subsided, and I could not understand it. In part, I was in denial. How can I possibly have gone through an anxiety attack when there are no bad things happening to me? Over the next couple of weeks, the anxiety attacks persisted to the point that I even planned ahead for them for the day of the wedding.
“I’m getting a heart attack! Take me to the hospital, now!”
My wife and I were getting married at a Catholic church, and during one of our meetings with the priest, he offered a solution. We were already inviting a limited number of guests to the ceremony, but we decided to add a failsafe to the equation. If I started having an anxiety attack, I’d just touch my ear, as if I had an itch or some sort of discomfort, and that would signal the priest that I was starting to feel anxious. If I did that, he would add a part of the ceremony where my fiancé and I would go to the apse (a small room behind the altar where a statue of the church’s saint was located) to pray before returning to continue with the “next part” of the ceremony. It was the priest’s bid at making me feel safer and more comfortable, but I cashed that option within the first 10 minutes. I really tried not to, but as it sometimes happens in weddings, when the ceremony started, several people my wife did not invite to the ceremony arrived. Some decided to go despite us asking them to only attend the party while others were invited by our family members against our wishes. I was feeling a plethora of emotions that slightly leaned in on anger of having family and friends go against the plan.
I felt like I had held my breath for those ten minutes trying to suppress Anxiety. I felt like my mind had been racing the entire time as it constantly and rapidly repeated what the priest was saying. I felt as if I was watching myself from a third-person point of view sweating cold, frozen in time. I felt like crawling out of my skin and dying. When I reached for my ear, I felt I had failed at giving my wife the wedding ceremony of her dreams. I felt weak. I had lost control over my body and mind and was at the mercy of this demon.
“You are not your thoughts. You are not crazy.”