Don’t want to write this post. Nope. But it would be a bad way to go out on the final day of the year by blowing off the post. I keep thinking that the lesson I’m supposed to be getting is that it doesn’t matter at all and I should just not post because really who gives a shit?
Yay for a panic attack. It does wonders for people who already suspect you’re mentally unsound. And it’s keen if you really desire that feeling of wanting to tear your own skin off. It doesn’t make sense, of course, and since you can’t explain it, it’s not really worth talking about and oy, I feel pain inside about it and confusion and frustration and I have zero answers. Zilch. So I’m going to see the therapist on the 9th. I wish so much there was a switch to flip. I’m just hoping that 12:00 midnight will have some sort of supernatural power over me.
My positivity is taking it in the shorts today. I don’t know why. I’m sure it has to do with blood sugar and caffeine and maybe the fact that blood doesn’t get to my head. It’s also got to do with empathy and love dreams and this vast expanse of nothingness that I’ve been running in and only found false edges to. Like a misty moor with only more mist and more moors no matter now many times you run until you collapse in a heap. This is not when the love dreams come, either. All you get is this sinking sense that in a year, you’ll be eating soft foods and staring out the window in some sort of agoraphobic haze.
Nothing is completely unqualified. I just, really can’t take my situation right now and while I know it can get better, I feel full of fear and doubt and anger and stress and it’s settled in me like a big head cold.
I was so sure yesterday and whammo, I feel like the rug came out from under me.
Which, I guess, it’s allowed to do every now and then. It being a curious sort of fate I have cultivated.
I am going to take the unlikely position that maybe being around people and drinking alcohol will do something for me. Even if, right now I am dreading it completely. Then, the actual remedies of getting back on board the health wagon. My half-sister has given me a Door #2 present of a psychic reading which I am taking her up on. The therapist, of course. My overcoming anxiety book. My friends. My trip to Italy. Exercise and self-care and tapping and the things that I haven’t been doing because those are for crazy people or people who are broken in some way that I certainly couldn’t be broken.
If it’s going to be a good year, and I hope it is, I want to believe it will be, then it will only be so if I face down some of my problems. And give up coffee and the things that are making my body generate this level of anxiety.
A promise I can keep: I will see you tomorrow.