|I'm Diseased--Let Me Count the Ways
||[October 30, 2007 @ 8:18am]
1) I'm having panic attacks again, or I can feel them coming. Many of you don't know this about me, but I have a history of depression and severe anxiety in my family. Anxiety attacks like mine surface when, I guess, things aren't going well in life, particularly at school. And "not going well at school" for me isn't what you'd think. It's usually something like, "Am I not as intelligent as I thought I was? Why am I so awkward? How many people hate me, I want to know. Why do I feel like a pariah?" And, of course, an English project or something is always mixed in there. (Usually a group project, where I'm left with all the work. The issue there is that I find people generally unreliable, difficult to work with, etc.) But, anyway, the symptoms include: Uncontrollable crying; a false sense of imminent danger (i.e. death), like you're stuck on a conveyor belt leading to a vat of boiling oil; very childlike behavior/emotions, at least for me (i.e. a strong desire for some non-existent maternal savior); extreme difficulty breathing, though that's minor in my case; difficulty judging the future, as in, when you think about the next day, and the next, all you can see is this one (meaning: pain); inability (appears to observers as a refusal, but really isn't) to perform normal actions required of you, like getting out of bed, or getting in the car, much akin to the sensation of a strong gravitational pull to remain where you are; and a VERY upset stomach, though I've never vomited from a panic attack.
2) I have a nervous twitch thing, where I have an urge to look downwards, forcing my chin against my neck. It's disgusting, and I've had it for a while.
3) I hate my body.
4) Leading back to #1, I feel like a pariah, because of various things, the only one of which I feel comfortable talking about is the fact that I'm the only person I know who's really interested in politics. (Well, I know other people, but they all go to different schools, so, sorry, Blin, you don't count.) Therefore: People hate me. They think I'm strange and out-there because I find politics to be one of the most important aspects of my life, and I take it seriously. In turn, I'm also a bit disgusted by other people, and I worry that I might be thinking of people as inferior. There are a lot of things I want to be, and a supremacist has never been one of them. (I know one now, and Christ, he never lets up.)
5) I feel exceptionally guilty, because this is the second time in two weeks I've stayed home because of anxiety issues, or anxiety-related issues. It seems as if I'm hurting my parents, or at least betraying them, somehow. We can't afford a therapist right now, so I have no idea what to think or do about all this. (I decided to write this journal entry because of that.) I'll occasionally have a glimmer of inner strength, and I'll remind myself that I NEED to get out of bed, that I HAVE to keep going. My main goal has always been to be a writer; that's perhaps one of my biggest reasons for LIVING. (No, I'm not saying that I'm suicidal, people. Just that we all have reasons to stay alive, and one of my most important is my writing. [Family is, of course, above it.]) A lot of the time it's more primal than that, though. As if I'm always climbing a ladder, EVERYONE'S climbing a ladder, and to stop would just be to jump off--and why on earth would I do that? (I know, that made no sense.) I just hope I can keep a hold on that strength.
6) I'm so disgusted with myself that I have to wear a coat all day long to hide my arms like some sort of burqa. With time, I bet I'd even want to cover my face. I feel so silly about myself that I can't stand other people seeing me without at least two layers on. (I guess this is really just an extension of #3.)
7) I feel, as always, that my writing sucks infinitely. (Even writing this, come to think of it. How many unnecessary modifiers have I used?)
8) All my doubts have infected every moment of my day-to-day life. I'll be washing the dishes, and at the same time I'll be secretly agonizing over whether or not I actually have half a brain, whether or not I'll ever keep a friend, whether or not my friends actually WANT me as a friend, etc. Regardless of what people tell me, no matter how much they encourage me and reassure me, I still have these thoughts. This has made me realize that this issue is entirely INTERNAL, meaning that I'm the cause of my own problems. Which must, of course, mean that I'm also the solution. I should take hope from that, and I do; but sometimes it just doesn't seem like all that much, or it gets clouded by too much doubt.
9) This is a tag-along thing to depression and anxiety, but it's true, and it's very silly: I want someone to love me. Again, people tell me, but... :shrug:
10) I'm a bit crazy for saying this, but I feel like I'm two people. Not in the living-a-double-life way, or in the split-personality-disorder-schizophrenic way. More in the way that my depression and anxiety and all those issues have been shoved to one side of my Self, and all my other parts (the doubts, the fears, the gifts, the hope, and the love) they've all been put into the Self that I think I am. But when things get rough, that other Self leaks back into "Me," and then it's as if the panic attacks are being Fed-Ex'd right to my door. Which is how I can feel them coming. I see them more as a storm on the edges of town, drifting towards me. It's an unreliable radar, though; I don't know exactly when they're going to hit, I just know they are. (Could I make an aneurysm analogy without seeming petty?) And this "Separate Selves" business--I get it. I'm just trying to disguise the fact that I'm "bottling up" my issues. But it's all kind of a battle, and I have to find SOME way to cope until I hit better days. (What the fuck is it with me and metaphoric euphemisms? Translation for those of you who are tired of my whinging: I know that I have to deal with my issues, but I'm holding off until the day when I CAN do that.)
I have to make this separation here, because this isn't a continuation of "I'm Diseased--Let Me Count the Ways." I'd just like to say this, because this is more like a private journal entry than anything else (even though I'm making it publicly viewed): My wish, above all else, right now even above writing, is to be content. I'd like to feel that.
I also realize that I didn't get into the issues with my family, or my house, or any of that. Yet again, this is because this is fashioned to be more of a private entry, so a lot of this was written in a self-understood context. I guess I might write more about my tangible issues later, but I don't want to just whine and whine nonstop. Let's just finish by saying that I feel tired.