I decided to go to a 90s/00s dance party fitness class last night. It sounded fun, I knew people who were going, and I felt that I was prepared to be aware of how I felt and not overexert myself.
I had a great time, got a good workout in, and made it home to shower right before I had a panic attack that left me in the fetal position, unable to do much more than stare at my hand or sob for over an hour.
This is why I don’t do things or go places. It’s hell after.
I still don’t feel fully cognitive and it’s been 12 hours.
There is no “try harder” or “think positive” or “be more prepared” that prevents what happened to me last night. I did something I thought might be fun, and my brain gave me a beating. There are other factors that were likely at play, but the timing wasn’t coincidence, and I’ve had issues with exercise for years because my brain reads my elevated heart rate as a threat.
It’s experiences like that, reminders of how much of your life has been ripped out of your hands by trauma, that can be almost unbearable and make it seem like leaving the house it not worth the risk.
But I have things to do today, so I might be a bit slow, but I am going to leave the house and do them and try again, because trauma isn’t winning today.