How are you Reader?

I always have one million and one ideas about what I want to write about in this weekly email to you. I've been sitting on the couch for about an hour trying to force my brain to land on one, but my brain is insisting that I tell you about something else.

MELODY'S BRAIN: It can be hard to be me sometimes. I yell and gesticulate wildly and have eleventy billion good ideas and thoughts and Melody just can't seem to focus on one ever. Should I yell louder?

As I'm writing this, I'm less than 48 hours out from having another anxiety/panic attack. I've struggled with (at least what seemed like) hormone-induced anxiety off and on since about my mid-thirties, but ever since getting sick with Covid back in December of 2020, it has ramped up exponentially.

I've been on anxiety medication since the beginning of getting sick and we've now upped or changed the dose three times since then. I recently started an anti-depressant, along with what feels like every supplement known to man.

MELODY'S BRAIN: Please do not suggest a supplement. We know it's well-intentioned, but we just can't handle more suggestions. We're working with someone we trust. Bless and thank you.

If you've never struggled with anxiety or don't know what it feels like, it's so much different than I ever assumed. I can't speak for everyone of course, but for me - it can be situational or related to nothing at all. It can be about something in particular or seemingly come out of the blue. It feels like spiraling, but also zoning out. It can feel like wanting to lose yourself in a crowd or wanting to never socialize again, even with people you know and love.

Medication, a LOT of counseling, fairly set routines, decently healthy eating, walking the dog, yoga, just naming the damn thing - all ways that I am mostly able to control and ease the situational, mild anxiety.

But this is now the second time in just about a year that it's all completely gone off the rails.

The first time, back in April of 2021, I was able to pinpoint a "cause". I had ran out of my anxiety medication and couldn't get it filled for a few days. Having never taken a break from it since I started, I wasn't really aware that the body DOES NOT LIKE THIS COLD TURKEY SITUATION.

I really, really struggled for a few days. I lost my ever-loving shizz on my kids, struggled to drive, sobbed in the closet, could barely hold a normal human conversation. But there was a tangible end in sight, knowing my medication was coming soon.

So I've always been pretty certain the break in meds was what caused the attack. Until just a few days ago! Party time! Ambiguity in the body is always a time for celebration! lolololllllll

Since initially getting sick, I have had recurring Covid symptoms pop up every month. Each month brought different symptoms, even some new ones I never had with my initial sickness. Some months were more severe than others, some were totally manageable. Manageable as in it was always there in the background, but I could tune it out sometimes. Like a mosquito buzzing or other totally non-irritating sounds like that.

I've finally started to see some improvement. A reduction in symptom severity most months. Low-level fatigue, but a consistent level at least. I actually started telling people I was seeing some marginal improvement at the suggestion of my doctor, because you know, words matter.

Then all of a sudden, this month brought a raging inferno of symptoms. Tinnitis, plugged ears, major fatigue, excessive heartburn, anxiety, total loss of smell, lack of taste to the point where even the idea of vegetables made me gag.

I just felt so frustrated and defeated. Even though the progress hadn't been linear by any stretch of the imagination, it at least was trending upwards. But this felt like falling right back down to the bottom of the well.

I don't care if this sounds dramatic, but it absolutely triggered a trauma response in my body. I found myself angry with people who had treated me poorly at the beginning of my sickness, who I honestly hadn't given a second thought to in months. My body felt like a tuning fork, constantly vibrating. It felt like my nerve endings were at the surface of my skin. I just felt so raw and tender.

I came close to a breakdown when I had to drive into town one day for a quick doctor's appointment. Walking back in the door of our home felt like a warm hug. I didn't feel safe outside my own front door.

I know all the things that help me relax. I wanted to do all of them and none of them. I wanted to eat, but nothing sounded good. I wanted to read, but couldn't focus on a single word. TV gave me anxiety, I couldn't quiet my brain enough to sleep - even though I felt simultaneously exhausted and wired. I ingested more CBD oil and powder than any one person probably should.

I went to hot yoga, which is generally the only place I can turn off my brain, and it was an awful, anxiety and heartburn-filled hour. I know it was good to sweat, but I left feeling worse.

In what feels absurd to me to say, work actually helped. I had some tasks to complete that didn't require my creative brain and it felt good to do something productive. To check something off a list.

For the most part, I sat on the couch wrapped in a blanket and stared at the wall. I ate grilled cheese on sourdough for three straight meals, so now we have scientific evidence that this is my comfort food.

Thankfully, the kids were at their grandparents, so I was able to just work through this without adding an extra layer of guilt for being not fun, or exhausted, or snippy, or downright mean. And a marginal positive is that having gone through this before, I knew it would actually end at some point.

I'm mostly through it, thank goodness. Now my body just feels physically exhausted, because my body spent about 48 hours in absolute fight or flight tension. Once I came out of it, I couldn't stop thinking about people who deal with this on a regular basis. Or have attacks when they're taking care of babies or toddlers. Or people who don't have the luxury of sitting on the couch and staring for two days.

I also can't stop thinking about how flippantly we talk about panic or anxiety attacks, making the real thing feel not that important or as dangerous somehow.

Why am I telling you all this?

I don't know really. I guess to either share with you what this actually feels like or commiserate with you if you've been through it. To shed more light on what the effects of Covid on a pretty healthy, active body can potentially be. To share that anxiety medication and anti-depressants have been an absolute life-saver for me, and I don't say that lightly. I think they have literally saved my life.

Because it just feels better to share it. Stories like this can feel like they're poisoning me from the inside until I get them out (which my therapist assures me is NOT how everyone in the world feels but there you have it lol).

Thanks for allowing me space in your inbox today with this clearly light and cheery topic. But yo, the title of this whole newsletter has the word melancholy in it. SO I AM ALLOWED THANK YOU.

Also, you know, life is just that way, right? Sometimes joyful, sometimes melancholy, sometimes angry, sometimes exhausted, sometimes blissful. A good and full life requires it all.