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Be Gentle, Chickadees

I woke up this morning with my heart pounding so hard I thought it would explode, my throat a pinhole, my lungs seemingly paralyzed.

It was a panic attack, and it felt familiar. I used to have half a dozen or more a day before and during my second divorce; they were part of what drove me into therapy and medication.

I will never forget the pride I felt when I told Frau Doktor “I’m only having one or two a day!” And the amazement when she replied, “We can get that to zero. It’s very possible.”

I was in such crisis, functioning through so much crippling anxiety, that a day free of panic attacks seemed a distant fantasy, much like a lifetime supply of donuts or any financial stability.

But Frau Doktor was right. I have had years without panic attacks. They have been glorious. For part of this morning I’ve been spinning, fearing a return to the bad old days. But, as my support network has reminded me, it is absolutely reasonable, natural, and normal to be wigged-out right now. This is an Extraordinary Situation (made a thousand percent worse by the lack of functioning adults in the White House, let it be known) and anxious trepidation is a rational response.

That being said, panic attacks are not pleasant. Having one’s amygdala screaming in fearful pain isn’t pleasant either. Your poor body doesn’t understand there’s nothing to be done but endure right now; it thinks that enough adrenaline, enough fight or flight, will solve the problem.

Be gentle with yourself, with your body, and with your brain. We’re all dealing with A Lot right now.


I’ve been reading true crime a lot lately, probably because the narrative of bad people being caught and investigative machinery actually working gives me some sense of control over the universe at large and my fate in specific. I know it’s a false sense, but it helps, and I’ll take it.

Just last night I finished the 2012 revised and expanded version of The Only Living Witness. It was chilling to read, especially in bed with the dogs snuggled warm and safe. Michaud’s many jabs at Ann Rule detracted from the book, I must say–I felt like saying dude, I can see you don’t like a woman writing true crime was successful, envy is a bad look on you, cut it out. It’s strange and deadly that the misogyny of killers finds its match in the misogyny of the mostly male law enforcement system, but I guess hating women is so endemic in our society nobody can escape.

I think that was my last true crime read for a while. I’ve been meaning to get my Franz Bardon on; his Initiation into Hermetics looks juicy. It’s nice to have reading to look forward to.


I suppose that’s all the news that’s fit for print today. I had planned to take this week off of subscription drops, but the world is afire and stories are what I have to offer. Consequently, all subscribers, on Patreon or Gumroad, will get a little goodie in their inboxes around 2pm PST today. And Haggard Feathers subscribers get an open thread, too–lucky seven open thread, as a matter of fact!

As Mr Rogers said, look for the helpers. I’m doing my best to be one of them.