Really real mental health post . . .
This was supposed to stop once the death date passed. I’m doing all of the right things, I’m going to PHP, I’m doing the work, I’m even going to the gym. I’m staying active, I’m staying busy, why is there a fucking elephant on my chest.
Why am I so fucking angry.
Why do I feel like I can’t fucking breathe.
Why can’t I fucking breathe.
I don’t know what’s worse, having a panic attack and not knowing, or having one, knowing, and still not being able to stop it.
Laying in bed and feeling my chest tighten, not wanting to fight against myself to breathe, knowing thats just going to make it worse, and at the same time feeling the need to fight.
It looks so peaceful on the outside but on the inside my brain is screaming. How many years did it take me to learn to stay calm through that?
The good news is, I’m learning to fight against my own instincts to fight. And by that I mean fighting in general. I’m not fighting myself, I’m not fighting the people around me, and I’m not fighting to breathe when my body panics. The bad thing is, my body is responding by making me panic.
More work to be done, more groups, more tears, more long days and exhausting nights, many many more panic attacks I’m sure.
This fucking sucks, but it’s still better than the alternative.