I don’t understand it but I guess, logically, it’s never going to make sense – and I that’s probably why I feel the way I do.
I feel like one more time I have to convince myself not to have a panic attack, not to get anxious, I may lose it. Lose what? Well, I have no idea. I am far, far beyond crying and I know I’m not going to go crazy, but I sure as heavens feel like it.
I wish there was a way I could just drop it, move forward, easily, freely – like all those new-age teachers promise it can be. It’s been years now, and I’ve done so much work, come so far, been through so much, I refuse for the rest of my life to be this way. 6 years since my first, unbelievably terrible panic attack that caused Agoraphobia, and 3 years since the second attack that again left me house-bound. Twice in my life I’ve had to rebuild myself from the ground up and it seems like nothing I do can cut the cord.
Unfortunately, because I have done the work and I do have days where I feel invincible, the lows are so much lower now. Painfully low. As if you met the love of your life and then they were taken from you the next day – only, it keeps happening, like being stuck in an awful groundhog day like dream.
A man that I work with returned from holidays yesterday, we were finally on the same day. Ordinarily I would be thrilled to chat with him but I couldn’t even stand to pretend like I cared how he was. Of course I do care, I know that deep down, but I didn’t have the energy to play the “how are you, I’m fine” game so I kept walking away. I know now I’ve probably planted the seeds of him thinking I don’t like him, or that I, perhaps, have become a bitch. Sad, really.
I passed another of my co-workers as he came into work, and he told me that he had been offered a position at a great workplace starting next year. Of course, I was proud of him – I am happy for him, he looked so fulfilled and joyous – but I got such a stabbing pain in my heart as I smiled and congratulated him. It seems everyone keeps moving forward and here I am trying to convince myself, a 28-year-old woman, that I don’t have to run away from the “scary workplace”. Wooooooo *ghost noises*
In some ways I wish my mental illness was an external thing – perhaps a person. I am strong and there’s no way I would put up with someone else doing what anxiety does to me – I would be so far rid of them we wouldn’t even be on the same planet anymore.
But there’s something about fighting something you can’t see, that you don’t understand.
I just don’t get why it’s still here, why, if I’m ready to be free, it can’t just drop it.
I’m ready. Why can’t it be?