tooth soup

It’s been almost a year since my last anxiety attack. The last one resulted from me thinking too much about dying at 3am. I ran out of the house into the cold street trying to shock myself into thinking about something else. That’s the thing about attacks – your brain no longer belongs to you.
This one was a little different to my previous ones. In fact the only thing it really had in common with the others was that it was triggered by stress and tiredness. Let me try and explain it happens. Initially you just feel a bit strange, off-centre, not quite all there. You think something strange is going on with yourself but you try not to admit it because that brings it on a lot faster (kind of like the band-aid thing I guess). This feeling grows and grows until its clear that something strange is definitely happening to you and there isn’t much you can do about it.
Being in the middle of an anxiety attack feels like your mind and your emotions have been chucked in a blender and put on shake for an hour then scooped out and shoved back into your head. You try and think of someone that you can talk to but you don’t want to appear crazy. So you send askance messages to someone asking whether the drinks last night were okay, and then tell them you’re fine when they ring you even though you’re anything but. You don’t want them to think that you’re unhinged. Because everything there is going so damn great that this stupid bullshit shouldn’t affect it.
You repeat yourself in your head a lot. Ideas get stuck and repeat like a scratched vinyl and you can’t stop them from doing it. You cry. You shout. You do both at the same time. You wonder why you are crying, you don’t usually cry, but the salt water hits your lips and you get reminded of all the times when you’ve cried before. You think you’re going crazy.
Eventually you just get so exhausted that it knots up in a steely sort of ball in your chest and you realise you have to go to work and pretend to be fine. You go to work early to clean CD’s but you need the therapy of writing it all out. So you do. And you count down the hours ’til you can go to bed and sleep away the waves.

I’m okay. Really. It’s just my complication. Everyone has them, this is just one of mine. I feel like apologising but it’s not something to apologise for. It’s just something that happens to me occasionally. I’m not sure if its healthy or not. Probably not. Anyway. CD’s.

*Happygoluckyedit* Thunderstorms always make me feel better. Tonight is no exception. You’ll find me standing in the Forrestfield Forum carpark. Possibly grinning. A very bipolar day.

*Hermedit* I think I may put this in friends only. It’s a bit personal. :S

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