Yeah, this was of the couldn't stop crying and alternating between hyperventilating and being unable to breathe at all variety. Dad's never seen that before; I think I really scared him.
So, he drove me to work, and I composed myself just enough to ask to speak to the MOD for a sec. This, of course, was the one I used to not get along with and who just came back to our store, so didn't know the whole deal with my health issues, so I was terrified. I told her that I was there (obviously), but I really wasn't in any shape to work, and I'd stay if they needed me to but I was barely able to get out of bed that morning. She told me to go home and she'd stretch the shifts on either side of me to cover, and to just keep in touch re: me working tomorrow, which was best possible scenario.
Dad took me to the rents' house, where I waited the hour and a half it took for the pills to kick in (after about an hour I was breathing again, but I kept finding myself pressing my hand so hard against my mouth I was afraid I'd break my teeth). Then he force-fed me tea and Irish soda bread and took me home again before heading off to work.
I'd planned to watch some of my TV backlog; low-stress, and would keep me from thinking about any of the things that could set me off again. But when I took the Xanax this morning I took my bedtime dose (one fast-acting to shut up my brain so I can sleep and one extended release to keep me from waking up when the fast-acting wears off), which on top of the wrung out, post-adrenalin high of the attack left me sleepy as hell. So I slept from 9 to about 3, and I'm going to be going to bed again in about ten minutes.
Was able to rehearse the two people today, though I did it in my pjs and bathrobe and C came by to pretend to AD when the creepy guy was here. Yes, I know the irony of a creepy guy in a show about women's empowerment, but we were desperate. And he pinged me, A, and C, so it's not in my head.
Tomorrow I'm going to see if I can write some in the morning, and then I have work in the afternoon. I'd like to actually be able to talk to my parents about what's actually going on, but I'm deathly afraid it'll set me off again. I might try sending Dad an e-mail with all of it laid out, because I seem to do better with text than verbal mediums. We'll see how I feel tomorrow; I almost cancelled the rehearsals this afternoon because I just couldn't handle people.
God, I hate this.