Mood: don't ask
Now Playing: Perfect Blue Buildings, Counting Crows
Having a panic attack. Everyone keeps telling me that things will be fine, and I know this. Hell, I UNDERSTAND this. However, this does not stop the fact that all of a sudden (well, the past few days), I have gotten progressively worse. As I type now, it is late at night, after midnight anyway, and my hands are shaking and my mouth is dry for no fucking reason, and while I have the music cranked up to drum-shattering decibels, I can feel the wind outside rattling my bones and brain.
In the past few days, I've gotten louder, as if the world couldn't hear me already as well as the poor shmucks next to me. I'm talking at an almost constant clip, like if I stop something will happen or worse, not happen.
The reason i bring up this painful revisitation of my ever-surprising symptoms is because I have noticed that while I've kept this blog, I can almost chart my crashes and spins. I always thought that my panic attacks were few and far between, and it looks to me like I was wrong. Or maybe it's just because a "panic attack", to me, involves the rocking in a corner of a room and insomnia lasting for more than two days and the slamming of my fists into cinderblock walls. The smaller jitters and jives happen ALL THE TIME.
It's times like these, these things I remember and things I forget, that I almost consider taking up the VA on that offer of free medication and therapy. Almost.
I mean, if I can live a life that appears normal, I can't be that bad off, can I? If I can function pretty damn close to normally I can't need THAT much medical attention, right?
I can't tell my hub-unit these things, because he worries enough about me as it is. SO I write them down, and hope against hope that no one notices the contrast in moods and I can soak in the shower for a while and it will all go away.
I hope.
Rattled Out By Queenie
at 9:48 PM