So… I’ve wrote the first page. Everything else is easy, right? Right?
Nah, I know it’s not.
I am going to go through the way my mind has been feeling tonight. It will definitely make me cry again.
It began with the “run away” feeling. It always does. Ever since I was in my first job, after undergrad. I panic when it comes to having workplace responsibilities. It absolutely cripples me. I guess it’s because I’m a perfectionist; one of those ones that goes into paralysis in the face of a task and chooses not to do it instead, simply because the fear of fucking up is too great.
It then turned into (what I believe to be) a panic attack. You might be thinking ‘Hey. You said you have anxiety, what do you mean you only THINK it is a panic attack’, and that’s a fair point.
See, I have been lucky enough to only experience a handful of panic attacks. Instead I get anxiety attacks. Apparently it goes hand in hand with Generalized Anxiety Disorder.
So anyway, panic attack. I lost feeling of my entire upper body, I could only breathe in gaspy sighs, I shook uncontrollably. It scared me, but it passed, and I put it down to first day nerves.
I ploughed on with the rest of the day as best I could. I was a little weepy on the phone at lunch time (my sister rang) but I carried on.
The slimy, ten ton ball of antimatter is still nestled in my gut. I try to ignore it. I can’t.
By the time I get to go home I feel quite miserable. Like a four year old child who spent the day looking for someone to give it a hug yet there’s no parent big enough to fix it. I feel tiny. So small. So feeble.
I am small. I’m weak. Pathetic. Quitter. Quitter. Quitter. Useless. Sack of Shit. Failure.
Failure.
Failure.
It rings through my bones as I sit on my bed, crying small tears (I am possibly dehydrated- blame the face floods from earlier). I feel dirty. Like a turd that has been stood in on a wet day. No one bothers scoop that poop, it’s too late for it. Smushed.
I don’t want to be this way. I hate how isolating it feels. I have a strong family behind me (biological, and chosen) but I still feel alone.
The intensity of the weakness I feel is honestly astounding. I feel brittle with it. Unable to support myself. The body marches on, but the spirit is trampled to death. I don’t know where to start to repair it. I am so lost about it.
I think I am lost in a general sense. I thought science was for me but it chewed me up and spat me out when my depression got a hold on me, leaving a trauma that I can’t heal. I thought an office job would be better for me, yet I’m too crippled by fear. I will never succeed in a workplace. I’m possessed by fear. It owns me, and all I can do is hide.
My mind is incredibly vicious with me. It taunts me. I stare out the window and try to look away from the panic. I don’t realize I’ve been scraping at my legs with my hands all the while. It’s my partner who pulls my hand away. Eventually I feel the sting. It scares me.
My heart breaks. Mostly for my partner. He is the universe and more to me. This is how I repay his kindness- by being a wreck. He deserves more than this but I love him, and am so grateful that he sticks around. I know where I would be without him. It wouldn’t be in the land of the living.
It breaks a smidgen for myself. Not in a self-pitying way, more of a ‘Oh you poor, poor fart’ kind of way. Like I would want to hug me if I was my friend. But I’m not. I hate myself, really. I reckon I always have.
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