Panic and Anxiety Disorder in Water Signs

Without a doubt, the most difficult part of the Water Signs writing process was incorporating my real-life bout with panic and anxiety disorder into Madeline's experiences as my fictional counterpart. While overall, this book literally flew out of my imagination and memory and onto my computer screen -- seemingly with a life of its own -- choosing to include the darkest period of my life into the story presented its own unique set of challenges.

No, I never faced the dreaded "writer's block" at any point along the way, but I did have to overcome some serious resistance to pulling out and perusing some very old journals chronicling that entire, frightening phase. As strange as it may seem, while I was at my lowest point in the battle, I'd journal every day without fail -- but I would never go back and read the previous day's submission. I'd just turn to a fresh page and start writing. And when I'd fill up a book, I'd put it away with all of the others, never to be opened again. Or so I believed.

It's kind of hard to create a compelling narrative without the use of proper description, which mandated pulling out all of those handwritten journals and figuring out which elements to include in the book. But even though by that point I'd been free and clear of panic and anxiety disorder for well over a decade, I encountered tremendous internal resistance. For anyone who's already read the book and remembers this portion of the story, it's probably easy to understand why.

Eventually I worked up the courage to do it, but not before playing an emotional game with myself whereby I actually skipped ahead and literally wrote the happy ending -- which was a bit tricky from an editing standpoint when I then had to go back and fill in several earlier chapters. I suppose my unorthodox method worked because every time I'd read a particularly heart-wrenching entry in my journal, I'd remind myself of two things 1.) No matter how horrific it got, it was in the past and it could no longer hurt me; and 2.) I was working my way up to a magnificent conclusion, which in order to retain an air of unbridled triumph and victory, had to be preceded by a tough, seemingly hopeless struggle, a "dark night of the soul" kind of thing.

Still, reading those journals and being hit with the stark reality of just how bad things were at one point in my life was jarring, to say the least.

One thing I've learned from the countless readers who've come forward to thank me for writing about panic disorder in the book, and to share their own battles with this emotional menace is that it seems to be an intensely personal experience. That while there are common symptoms -- racing heart, pounding head, feeling of wanting to jump out of your skin -- others are not shared by all afflicted.

In my case, one of the strangest and scariest was described in Water Signs like this:

But most distressing was a new and chilling sensation she could only describe to her father as a 'tightening of my spine'. During these frequent and unpredictable moments, her legs and arms would suddenly feel limp and lifeless, though still fully functional. This was preceded by a palpable sensation at the base of her neck, whereby she'd swear some invisible "puppet master" was literally pulling her strings and forcing her into submission. All of these symptoms were now accompanied by vivid nightmares that typically featured disturbing images -- from snake-pits and fire-breathing dragons to evil men in masks wielding AK-47s.

It might be of passing interest to note that at the time (1996), I was not really up to speed on radical Islamic terror, though I certainly knew about the unrest in the Middle East and remembered significant events like the Iranian Hostage Crisis. And although I didn't include this in the book, somewhere around that time I had an awful nightmare in which my oldest brother Mark and I were captured by terrorists, who forced me to watch while they murdered him. Like I said, chilling stuff.

Another point of interest in my experience with panic and anxiety disorder is that although most people associate it with acute, intense attacks, they were typically rare for me. Did I have full-blown anxiety attacks? Absolutely. But unlike many others, mine occurred maybe about once a year throughout the entire five-year duration. But when they did happen, they came on with a vengeance as described in Chapter 18:

But soon after they'd arrived, the pulsating rhythms and flashing strobe lights suddenly changed from energizing dance accoutrements to instruments of torture. In reaction to these typical club stimuli, Maddy's heart began to race out of control, vying for first place with her head, which pounded ferociously. These sensations were accompanied by that frightening fight-or-flight response, compelling her to run as far and as fast as she could to some unknown destination. On this particular evening, Maddy followed her impulses back to the parking lot, oblivious to the freezing temperatures.

Her dance partner had trailed right behind and insisted on taking her to Shore Memorial, where a nurse attached a clip to her finger and proclaimed that Maddy was getting plenty of oxygen, despite her protests to the contrary. And though she saw the blinking green indicators that confirmed this sound medical opinion, she remained unconvinced. That belief only intensified with the nurse's subsequent announcement that the patient was suffering from the flu -- perfectly understandable given the recent outbreak.

There's nothing quite so frustratingly embarrassing as trying to convince a medical professional that --while it might not be of physical origin -- something is seriously wrong with you. In this particular instance, as with most others, I usually nodded right along with them, temporarily accepting the fact that no one ever would understand exactly what it was I was grappling with. For a while, it just seemed simpler and easier to concede.

But as I said, hyperventilating attacks were not a common occurrence for me, thank God. However, the symptoms I dealt with on a daily basis were not exactly fun either:

But even though the acute onset of symptoms seemed to have subsided, a persistent general feeling of uneasiness had taken over, accompanied by relentless headaches, stomach pains and occasional bouts with alternating sweats and chills. All of this continued apace without regard for the fact that she'd dutifully gone back on the Pill at her doctor's insistence, thus experiencing regular, if false, periods.

While hormones no doubt did play a part in this unwanted drama -- exacerbated by the Pill, which at the time was the apparent cure-all for everything -- ultimately panic and anxiety disorder is an emotional problem, not a mental or physical one (although the emotions adversely affect the physical body). Years later, Arbonne's natural progesterone cream solved every problem I ever had of the female variety; if only I'd discovered it sooner. Better late than never, though, and I am thankful for happening upon such a simple solution by the time I hit my early 30s.

As for the panic phase of my life, encountering the "remote viewer" I discussed in a previous post was an absolute Godsend. But just as the problem affects everyone differently, its solution may also be unique to each sufferer. That's why my advice is to never give up, to keep seeking out potential solutions and trying everything that has the potential to help you without actually hurting you. Far be it from me to encourage anyone to see a psychic if that conflicts with their religious beliefs; I can only honestly report how my real-life story went down. I long ago made peace with the fact that my cure came from an unlikely source, one I will never believe came from a place of evil.

Perhaps when I get to the end of my life, I'll find out differently (I pray this is not the case). For now, all I can say is that thanks to a psychic, I said good riddance to panic and anxiety disorder forever.

God and Spirituality in Water Signs

As in real life, faith and belief in God and spiritual growth play a major role in Water Signs, particularly in the character development of the book's heroine, Madeline. Like me, she was brought up in a traditional, Catholic home where the family attended weekly mass together, celebrated sacramental milestones (First Holy Communion, Confirmation, etc) and sent their children to parochial school. One of the things for which I am most grateful to this very day is the solid foundation of faith my parents gave me -- along with clear boundaries of discipline. While I never thought of them as being overly strict or too lenient, my guess is that by today's standards, most kids would view them as "out of touch".

Given the prevalence of current cultural problems like drug and alcohol abuse, sexually transmitted diseases and generally out-of-control, irresponsible behavior, I consider myself very fortunate indeed to have grown up with parents who cared enough to set and enforce the rules. This responsibility mainly fell onto my mom, since my dad's work as a surgeon often kept him out of the house during the after-school hours of dinner, homework and play time. Being a strong, independent and determined woman, mom was never one to scold, "Just wait until your father gets home!" when one of us was in need of severe reprimanding. Whenever there was a need for punishment (which, in truth, was rare as we were all pretty good kids most of the time), she had no qualms dispensing it. For me, one warning look from my mother was typically enough to change my behavior. I knew she meant business.

But I also knew her as not only disciplinarian, but as ever-willing helper with school-work, homeroom mother, Home & School Association President, confidante and comforter. Perhaps most importantly, she was also my first spiritual guide who taught me how to make the Sign of the Cross and recite prayers like the Our Father. And the values imparted in the home were reinforced through 18 years of Catholic schooling -- from Montessori to university.

However, our traditional beliefs never stopped us from doing something that I now know many Christians consider the work of the Devil -- reading a daily horoscope. Along with the crossword puzzle, my mother and I used to take great delight in checking out that day's forecast for Aries and Pisces, our respective signs. Never did either of us think of it as anything more than fun entertainment, kind of like a thought for the day. And in no way did it change our beliefs about God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit; it was simply an enjoyable activity that became part of our morning routine.

In the novel, the same is true for Madeline. Thus, when she unexpectedly makes Ken's acquaintance at the Somers Point dance club in Chapter One, she takes no offense when he expresses his delight upon discovering that they are both Pisces. He's further intrigued to learn that not only do they share the same sign, but also the same exact birthday, down to the year. As an author, I gave my two main characters the same date of birth to enhance the "star-crossed", "soul-mate" aspect of the novel, as if to suggest that God purposely brought these two souls into the world simultaneously so that they could experience life in a physical body and aid in each other's spiritual growth while on Earth. Once they'd finally met each other for seemingly the first time (at least at the physical level), this purpose could be fulfilled. In real-life, "Ken" and I are both Pisces born in the same year, but about two weeks apart.

The Pisces symbol also reflects real life significance in terms of Madeline's grandmother. In a previous post, I revealed that March 7 -- the shared birthday of Ken and Madeline -- was actually my maternal grandmother's birthday. I'd enjoyed an especially close bond with her, having been born several months after my grandfather's death and thus provided her a much-needed, joyful distraction from bereavement and sorrow. According to my mom, it was almost as if I were her baby, given the way she constantly doted over me. Although she died quite traumatically a month before I turned seven, my remembrances of her are crystal-clear, thanks to the close bond we'd shared, and the many wonderful hours we'd spent together. "Nanny" epitomized everything a grandmother should be: loving, warm, caring and comforting. A stickler for looking her best, she always had her hair done, and wore nice dresses with matching pearl necklaces and earrings. Her best accessories, however, were her ever-present smile and joyful disposition.

Which brings me to perhaps the most controversial element of the book, which is also an event straight out of real life. While still battling panic and anxiety disorder -- in spite of embracing just about every known remedy from prayer and meditation to Yoga and exercise -- I bumped into a very interesting woman at a monthly business/networking meeting. Trained in what is known in military circles as "remote viewing", she was in reality what most civilians call a psychic -- and many Christians a "Handmaiden of the Devil", although upon first sight, she looked like just another no-nonsense businesswoman.

When Maddy meets Ann Claire in the novel, it's an accurate retelling of my own experience. Thus, when Ann accurately calls out Maddy's guilt for "leaving behind a middle brother who is handicapped" (my brother Ralph who is in-between oldest son, Mark, and youngest son, Paul), and notes that she is still "in mourning" for a grandmother who'd passed away over 20 years prior, it's an example of fact that has only been fictionalized marginally. I might have changed the names and altered the descriptions a bit, but the basic events are 100% true, including the fact that Maddy awakes one morning -- six months after a private reading with Ann -- to discover that for the first time in years, her head is clear, her stomach is calm and that the black cloud that seemed to relentlessly hang over her head has completely dissipated:

And exactly six months later, Maddy awoke with a clear head, a calm stomach and an overall feeling of excellent health for the first time in nearly eight years. It was as if a black cloud had finally been lifted, leaving a clear, blue sky and a brilliant rainbow in its place. Overcome with sheer gratitude, joy and relief, Madeline called Ann to share the wonderful news, exclaiming,

"Ann, thank God I ran into you that night! I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't -- I was at my wits' end!"

"Madeline," she replied dryly, "You manifested me into your life, don't you know that? God led you to me, based on your own intentions."

As was true for me at the time, Madeline doesn't quite grasp the meaning of that statement until much later, when she takes a course at Unity Church in Delray Beach. She'd been reading Daily Word faithfully for years, having been gifted a subscription by her mother, and had even called their toll-free prayer line on many occasions, without really knowing anything more about the organization. That would change upon meeting the local minister and taking a few classes.

More thoughts on God and spirituality in my next post.