I'm glad I found this site.
This is all I want to do- rant, in a place where I might be understood. I have overused my ranting privileges with those in my life at the moment.
So, thank you for reading, whoever you are.
I read the definition for Anxiety and for Panic Attacks, and I realized what I have been calling anxiety is more like a 90%-of-life-constant-panic-attack.
I am really sick of feeling misunderstood.
I am really sick of feeling crazy.
I am really sick of feeling like I am like lazy and unproductive and selfish because I stop myself from accomplishing the things I would like to.
I have found out that I have PTSD. I left the situation physically causing this condition 3 years ago, but mentally it followed me until 2 years ago when I finally became aware of the Stockholm-Syndrome-like effect it still possessed me with.
Since that realization everything has made sense, and I have been consciously attempting to be the person that I would like to be.
It's a struggle. I can say that.
I break down, shake, cry, have frantic racing thoughts, freeze. It makes a lot of things in life difficult. And then I am extremely hard on myself because of that.
I'm finding it really hard to work full-time. I felt extremely ashamed to do this, but I went to seek income support, since my awesome country offers that.
But of course, health care without money is hard to find. And when I went to see the walk-in clinic doctor, I felt brushed aside as some insane and/or lazy leech of society.
So I voiced my thoughts and said, "This is pretty embarrassing."
Her reply was, "Yeah."
So that's all I get? I am insane?
Am I just condemned to being alone in my frantic thoughts, in my darkness (that no one else understands, or sees a purpose for, or a cause of, or seems to think that this is okay in any way)forever?
I am so sick of shaking until I end up hugging my knees everyday.
I am so sick of hiding the inner trembles when I speak to people until the sheer effort of the energy needed to hide what I am actually going through overwhelms me, exhausts me, wears me out, until I am completely physically, mentally, and emotionally useless.
I am sick of hiding this from my boyfriend because it is an inconvenient annoying truth that he would rather not hear about and this is apparently not under his list of "responsibilities".
I am sick of wanting to explain this to my dear sister-friends but knowing I cannot explain enough for them to understand. They can comfort, they can listen, until I wear them out too. And they have done their part as a good friend, they have listened. And they withdraw, to protect their own energy. As they should.
I am sick of not being able to work enough to provide what I need.
I am sick of getting anxious and feeling unworthy to go for what I care about.
Sometimes I feel like I can only be alone, alone with my demons. In a place where I can sort them out, where no one will have to see the mess of this.
And other times the mess becomes so loud, I am like an animal clawing to get out of a cage- someone, anyone, take me out of here.
And of course, they don't. Because I am the only one who can.
That's what life has taught me.
It's getting better, I suppose.
Writing this was great therapy.
So, thank you for that.
I'm sorry it doesn't all make too much sense... I don't particularly want to edit it and my thoughts have been pretty frantic.
So, if you would like to leave any sort of comment, I would really appreciate that. I like to talk about why things happen. (Eternally curious and analyzing, not necessarily negative-anxiety-causing; the curiosity is just me.
Thanks for your time.
Don't take on my negativity if you read it, please.
Blessings to you.