shellac. it's back.

Not that it ever left.

I'm addicted to it. It's making my nails really thin. I'm afraid what's under there. But it's shiny!!!

These are my real nails. Plus 6 coats of polish and a UV light that hardens it.

I went running after dark in Central Park, which was probably a bad idea, but there were a few others on the trails, and wow the buildings look gorgeous at night. It felt so good to run. But I'm just hoping my leg stops swelling...I really don't want to go back to PT w/ all of the old people!!

panic attacks, hot yoga, acting class

Sometimes life just sucks. A lot.

This first section, we'll call...

AGONY

When you get married, you picture your whole life down to the details. The expectation is exciting. When it all ends, it's a feeling I can't quite describe. And I hope no one has to experience, ever. They say someday you feel better, and I hope that's true.

You have those moments where you feel you're going to die, or die alone, but then you remember that those really ugly people somehow found each other -- and I mean, really, not attractive. As did those people who are a gazillion years old, and still got married, when they were 68 or 74 or whatever it is. So there is still hope.

Ironically, I was asked to give a presentation about dating tips in Manhattan, for an event I did. It was around the same time as signing the final divorce papers, when I was basically at an all time low. Depressed. And showing up wearing something pink, to talk about Valentine's dating tips for Manhattan. So odd, having to inspire other people that "Yes!! There really are lots of great men left!! Sure there are!!" as I'm trying not to cry, contemplating the rest of my years alone with my fears, clinging to my chocolate chip cookies. And perhaps I'll grow to like cats.

One girl commented on the fact that I had been married, and I nervously explained that, "Yes! It's possible to get married in Manhattan. The girl, shocked I'd met anyone who wasn't a player, or who wanted to settle down, IN THE CITY, seemed somewhat inspired -- there is this view that you have to meet in college, or ship a man in from Kansas or Iowa in order to get married here, or be a 19 year old supermodel. Then the girl stops and says how awful divorce is, "Well that must be very hard," she says, seeming surprised that I've managed to leave the house and change out of my bathrobe. I don't have a bathrobe, but you get the point.

But enough about that topic. End pity party.

HOT YOGA

So anyway, I tried hot yoga. My fitness isn't at the best level (hadn't done cardio in prob 6 months!) So I was slightly concerned about keeping up. However, my main concern was being locked in the room -- since I've been having panic attacks whenever I can't get out of something (elevator, subway tunnel, car in a tunnel, etc.) But, I'd read hot yoga can help with panic attacks, and I'm willing to try anything.

I walk over to the studio (about 20 blocks) -- luckily it's walkable, since the subway terrifies me. 20 blocks is nothing to me now...the other day I was afraid of the subway, the bus looked crowded, and cabs are pricey, so I walked for 46 short blocks and 4 long blocks. Took 1.5 hours, and I had to stop for a sandwich. It would be faster to run, but I never seem to be wearing sneakers.

I nervously wait for the elevator (because I'm afraid of being stuck in there). It's a particularly cramped lobby (about a foot of space), and a small elevator. Luckily it's a short ride up there, and I pretend to look for something in my purse while holding my breathe.

I rent a mat and towel, and go in the super cramped locker room. It's spacious for umpa loompas-sized people, crowded for the rest of us. Very small space, but not a big deal. I go into to the yoga room.

Not bad! Slightly warm. About 40 people chilling out on their mats, deep breathing or something. How very relaxing this will be!

I've decided to repeat the phrase "I can leave whenever I want. The door is right there," to myself, to avoid panicking, sprinting to the door, and throwing myself against it repeatedly until I break it down -- which is exactly what I feel like doing during a panic attack (no exaggeration), and it takes every effort NOT to do this.

So I'm repeating this to myself, breathing deeply, trying my best to relax.

The teacher comes in, starts jabbering, which is good for distracting me. She closes a bunch of vents on the wall. She pulls down the 3 windows to the lobby. She closes (and locks) the door.

"Now that we're sufficiently LOCKED IN..." she says. This is where my heart begins to pound. OMG we're locked in. I can't leave. For 90 minutes.

The heat rises. It must be higher than the 105 degrees, 40 percent humidity that it's suppose to be. I imagine it's around 108-110. Tolerable though.

I no longer care about the yoga. It's VERY easy to do yoga, or run a marathon, while having a panic attack. I could probably life a car at that point. I could have kicked through the windows without a problem.

We all begin to break into ridiculous sweats, until the whole class is covered in a layer of water. Sweat drips off from faces wrists and just everywhere. There are droplets flying whenever anyone moves.

I look pretty good sweaty! Everyone looks better covered in a layer of gleaming sweat. It's so hot that the teacher is wearing a bikini. Other people are wearing shorts w/ sports bras. I'm wearing a lot in capri lycra and a tank top!

The teacher seems impressed that I haven't taken a break yet. There are always 2-3 people just sitting on their mats, looking like they're going to die, at any given moment. Many first timers just sit on their mats the whole time, adjust to the heat.

This is not due to my incredibly athletic ability, BUT rather, it's due to the intense fight or flight reaction I'm experiencing, and trying my best to ignore. I throw myself into every pose, my mind is a fog, my heart beats incredibly fast. I want to run out screaming throughout the entire class.

It's not a controllable feeling. I learned there is this thing called the amyglia in your brain. When you turn your head to view a threat, this part of your brain tells your muscles to run -- EVEN before your eyes have completed processing WHAT THE THING IS. So you're running before you even consciously understand what you saw -- a bear, a person with a knife, a train about to hit you, etc. And this is the same feeling I'm experiencing. It's not like being a little nervous for a speech...I don't have a problem with that. I do have a problem feeling physically like I'm about to die unless I do something drastic.

I manage to convince myself that if I stay, the panic attacks will go away forever. I repeat this to myself the entire time. I know it's not true, but part of me believes it.

The teacher is complimenting my form. She doesn't know that I'm in the middle of feeling like I'm in a car stuck on a train track with a train approaching. She doesn't know how hard it is to not be sprinting away right now. Everything in me wants to throw myself against that door as hard as I can, screaming and begging until I somehow get out. I'm trying to channel that into whatever yoga pose we did -- I can't remember a thing actually. My mind was a blur the whole time.

I can stay though. Except, when we have to lie on our backs. Without the distraction of the painful yoga pose, I am FULLY aware of the full extent of the panic. My heart feels like a heart attack. I'm on the verge of tears. I can't breathe.

The heat is actually quite nice though.

I continue on. Until the last 7 minutes of the class. After another "lay on your back and fully notice how hideous you feel" moment, I sit up and realize that all I can manage is to stare at the floor intensely, using every inch of will power I have to not scream at the top of my lungs and break down the door. I'm breathing 6 seconds in, 6 seconds out. I'm a hair away from running out. I'm about to cry. At any moment I will break down.

The heat I'm pretty sure must be at least up to 110-112 at this point. There is NO way this is 105.

The teacher comes over (who has been yelling at people, drill sergeant style all night -- note: never ask her to turn on the fans, like that one guy did...) and she asks if I have to leave. "LEAVE!! OH THANK GOD PLEASE LET ME! OH GOD LET ME LEAVE!" (is what I think). But I say, "I'm having a panic attack, which is making me want to leave. I'd like to stay, but I'm not sure that I can."

She opens a window to the lobby for me. "Can I just stick my head through the window for a second?" I ask. Surprisingly, she lets me. Once I realize that the window is large enough for me to crawl through, I feel much better. I'm eternally grateful to this drill sergeant in a bikini that she let me stick my head through a window, and instead of being self-conscious about this, I suspect my classmates are a bit jealous.

I have an escape route and my heart drops down a notch.

Now it's like the possibility of a train hitting my car on a track, NOT the train 15 feet away.

However, I then notice she is closing other windows. I'm terrified for the remainder of class that she'll close that one window. That was the longest 7 minutes of my life.

So in conclusion: I like the heat. I liked sweating. The yoga was quite easy and not overly cardio focused. But the panic attack was terrifying.

In a blur, I got my stuff, and realized there was no way I was taking that elevator after that!! I had nothing left. So I ran down the 7 flights of stairs, and freaked out when there was a metal door at the bottom...luckily it opened. The main door was locked...again I freaked out, until I saw a button you press to open it.

Walking home, I felt the same sense of shock I did after getting hit by the cab. It really was easier getting hit by the cab, than this.

I went home and cried for about an hour, and then pulled myself together and went salsa dancing. It was so much less scary to do that -- even though I hadn't danced in a year-- than feeling like I was dying. SO much easier. The only problem was watching the dance show, people just squished in...about 10 lines of them and I was in the front. So no way to leave. But it wasn't as bad as being locked in.

I'm trying this diet that is suppose to help with panic attacks, but it's very strict. I've done it for about a week now. No sugar, fruit, caffeine, alcohol, limited dairy, carbs (except for oats, brown rice, and quinoa). So basically, you can eat brown rice, meat, and vegetables.

It's surprising how sugar is in everything, even savory things like sauces, soups, and chips. No wonder we are an unhealthy country! I think it's helping slightly. I'm not feeling on the verge of panic attacks at home much lately (I had to sit in my closet a couple of times before I felt ok again). It's totally worth it to not feel that at any moment I'm about to lose it. You might have to stay on this diet for 1-3 months. I just don't really care. That's fine. I just don't want to feel like I'm about to die anymore.

I started going to a therapist, but he was as puzzled as I was. I was not locked or trapped in any containers as a child, nor as an adult. He didn't seem to have much to tell me. Also, he was hard of hearing, and insisted I scream at him in a low voice. It's difficult to say your problems in that tone of voice. We'll see if it helps.

I've decided to just avoid people and stop going out on the town until I can get myself together. It's not fun, but I think it's helping a bit.

ACTING CLASS

I had one of those discount vouchers for an acting class. I was grateful it was a walk-up.

I walk in, about 5 minutes late. The teacher yells at me. "YOU are NOT EVER going to be taken SERIOUSLY as an ACTOR if you walk in late!" he barks. I smile at him, because I really feel he's over reacting. This is a discount voucher. I am not at a serious audition or something.

He continues to yell at me as I get a chair. He repeats it a bit later, that I will never get anywhere in this town unless I respect the time.

Thank god I'm not putting all my eggs in that basket of "working actor in NYC." As good as those high school plays were, I'm not betting on this. So his conclusion is really not bothering me.

Then 4-5 people walk in late and he warmly greets them, "Welcome! Please grab a chair." Okay...odd.

The class was odd. The teacher ran away from the circus to live in NYC -- which really is kinda most people's story here I guess.

There just wasn't enough actual acting or exercises. It was mostly him talking, and watching actors already enrolled in the class struggle through, repeatedly. Kinda painful. There were some truly odd ducks in that class, and I can't imagine paying for it full-price.

Next, he goes on a rant about divorce. How it's only less worse than losing a child. That when you expect to live your life with your "soul mate" and then you're left all alone, your memories scattered, your future uncertain, all of your stability and loves in life gone, the little things no longer existing, the things you looked forward to, all gone. Asking your friend's friend if her friend is single, well, it's basically hell, he says.

He continues on discussing the reasons why divorce is so bad. I had actually signed the final papers that same day.