When it rains, it pours. Not only am I having panic attacks, but Rosa had an anxiety attack as well last night. She woke up and couldn't breathe.
"I was having a dream I was still using and homeless," she told me, flustered. "I was scrambling to get more cocaine."
"Calm down, darlin'," I said as I held her. "It is going to be okay."
I got up and fixed her a Coca-cola and got a cool, damp washcloth for her forehead. I wonder if there is such a thing as post traumatic stress syndrome for those of us that were addicts, formerly homeless, and in recovery.
"You sure you don't want to go to the emergency room?" I asked her, worried.
"No, just let me lie here and be with you. I will be okay in a minute."
It is so hard to see the one you love hurt. You want to reach out and soothe them -- to take away what ails them. I know from my own experience with anxiety attacks that there is no worse feeling. You feel like you are having a heart attack and feel so out of control. I actually hallucinate when having them.
"Me and you are something else," Rosa said as she smiled weakly and started to feel better, catching her breath.
"We certainly make life interesting, don't we?" I replied, smiling back and holding her firmly.
Soon, Rosa was back asleep and I got up to let Maggie out and to start my writing for the day. I had to also fill out some paperwork for social security about my prescription drug benefits. I had trouble figuring out how to declare the income from what I make on this blog. I don't consider it working and the amount I make is haphazard. I finally just came up with the average that I make $200 dollars a month in revenue. I am sure I will get a call from them in a few weeks about it. They are like the gestapo of the Nazi war years about benefits. I was talking to dad about my benefits just last night as he brought me all this paperwork to fill out.
"Dad, a seriously mentally ill person would never be able to keep up with all this paperwork and fill it out," I told him.
"That is why so many mentally ill people end up on the streets or in jail," my father said. "They don't have someone to help them with it."
"It is sad, really," I replied.
"Just thank your lucky stars you are able to keep up with all the paperwork."
I sighed and told dad goodnight. It just doesn't feel fair. So many mentally ill people are more deserving of it than me.