Today is my boyfriends birthday. He’s having a party at his house – somewhere I’ve only managed to be a handful of times due to the extreme stress and anxiety that seems to onset when I go there. Not just the house. The car ride there (which is less than ten minutes), and the location I guess. It’s not in the best neighborhood, and I’ve had some pretty bad experiences there. It’s about a block away from where I was once cornered by a man threatening to rape and violate me, while I screamed at the top of my lungs and 30+ people stood around watching, doing nothing. Kitty Genovese comes to mind. Among other things, it just seems to be a stressful place for me to go. Granted, most places are extremely difficult for me to go. I’ve mapped out about a three block radius containing four or five places I feel like I can go with chances of panic attacks greatly reduced. Still stressful, but still generally okay.
I also feel highly sensitive to the type of people I’m around. Despite the fact that I just took several klonopin and a xanax (waiting for it to kick in), I have a pretty big fear of drugs. It took me years of dealing with extreme panic and terror until I finally gave medication a try. It does help, but I wish it helped more.
I’ve been putting lavender oil on the bottom of my socks and in my shoes, as per instructed by the Shaman that I mentioned in one of my other posts. It’s to help me feel more grounded and in my body. I think it’s working? I’m not sure. I really hate the feeling of not being in my body. It’s the oddest sensation, and I would rather not live like this anymore.
But back to my boyfriends birthday. He already left, because he has to be there to let people in. He was definitely disappointed when I said I was having too much anxiety to leave that moment. He’s going to come back for me in a while, and hopefully I will have calmed down enough to actually go. I feel so much shame, embarrassment, guilt, sadness, and even anger about my fear – or what I generally refer to as “the terror.” I will go to nearly every effort to avoid it, because I would quite literally rather die than have to experience being in a state of complete and utter terror for hours on end.. It’s so exhausting.
And I’m sick right now. I tend to get more anxiety when I’m feeling sick. It’s not terribly bad, but it’s been almost two weeks of being “really sick,” “kind of sick,” and “I think I feel better… wait no, still sick.”
I feel as though I should be able to just buck the fuck up and go. And do things. And live. But instead I spend my days cooped up in my house, writing, reading, and writing some more, with those moments broken up by sleep, the occasional video game or netflix binge. I’m currently reading the Encyclopedia of the Occult. It’s an encyclopedia, and I’m reading it cover to cover. Pretty interesting stuff. I feel like a nerd because I actually enjoy reading encyclopedias.
I think the only thing truly saving me right now is working on my novel. It takes me out of my own world that grows smaller and smaller by the day, and allows me to invent a new one. It also gives me a purpose. I’m doing something. And that’s nice.
I really don’t want to drink tonight. I feel sick, and I just took medication. But I’m afraid that if I don’t drink I won’t be able to leave the house. I’m afraid that if I don’t, my brain won’t shut off and will go into overdrive and overthinking mode. I’ll map out every possible horrible situation that can occur and obsess over every fucking thing that could go wrong.
It sucks. I got dressed up and spent over an hour on my makeup. I look kind of amazing. And I did my hair. When I look at myself, I feel like I actually look like someone who is well put together. I used to hate how I looked, and I had a lot of issues with myself and my body. I stopped thinking like that, because I have enough problems to deal with. At least I stopped hating my body. I actually love my body, and I think I’m beautiful. I just wish more people saw me, and that I could see more people. I wish I could say statements like that without people thinking that I’m conceited. There are bigger things to worry about, and there are more stressful things in this world than obsessing over your body. Not that I’m saying that’s not an important issue that a lot of people struggle with a lot. We all have our own struggles. I try not to ever say that I have it worse than anyone else. Hey, I might. But I don’t want to say that to anyone. I know it makes me feel bad when people try to tell me they know exactly what I’m going through, or even that they have it worse because x, y, or z. It doesn’t matter who has it better or worse. We’re all struggling. We all have problems. We all have our own demons that only we can face on our own. Putting each other down or trying to make yourself feel better because you’ve been through more rough shit or have/had it way worse doesn’t help anything. All we can do is relate to each other the best we can, and do our best not to put each other down in the process.
Well, I went off on a rant.
I painted my nails and I messed them up because I felt the need to write. Writing can be such a huge compulsion sometimes.
Anyway, I’m going to end this with a song that is kind of but not really related, but maybe a little bit. Either way, I love it and this is what was playing when I started writing this entry.