Panic attacks went down for a very stable week, then a slightly-less week, now back to fairly often but not as bad as when I started this blog. So I’m still crying and thinking about death every day, and breaking down seemingly randomly, in the middle of good days. Two days ago I had an excited moment thinking about potential New Year plans, sent all my friends a message asking about theirs, then immediately had a slump and just lost all my enthusiasm for the rest of the day, and couldn’t even fathom the energy to text anyone back. I’m aware that’s pretty crap.
I just want to thank the new myspace friend who recommended Gabby Young to me because they are supporting her soon; she is amazing, thank you, you were spot on. I love her. She reminds me a little of Feist, who also make me feel wonderful things inside my bones. That’s the kind of stuff I need a lot of right now. I’m listening to We’re All In This Together on repeat at the moment, as I do when I find something that helps me write, or just function. I tried picking a new song to discover, but I’m in the state of mind that refuses interruption.
“I want to be miserable and delicate for about fifteen more minutes, please. Do not disturb.”
The other thing I’ve picked off the shelf to remind me of the beautiful things in life right now is my copy of New Erotic Photography by Dian Hanson and Eric Kroll. This is something I wish I had more time with, in a weird way. I look at it thinking I should only study it in alone time, but then part of me hopes I get discovered so I can show I don’t care because it’s tasteful and should be recognised as so; then I remember I am not my father and I do not need to educate everyone around me.
So I’m going to the doctor’s at silly o’ clock in the morning in the hope that they’ll have a space for me by chance, because they haven’t been open any time I’ve had off work recently and I’m really in need of a talk about the next step in this process. I got a call from the counselling service the other day, telling me that there are twenty-five people ahead of me on the waiting list, and the estimated date I will be seen won’t be before February or March. I am now at two months and five days on from my initial visit, at which the doctor said the usual wait is around six weeks. Well, I was having a down day, and that call was the cherry on that cake. I don’t know if there actually was a trigger that day but I broke down further than I have all week, and now I am actually dreading work every day. I can’t even play decent conversation with my friends there because I’m so sick of the same crap parts of the job, and myself. I am really not rating myself right now. I would say I’m at about a three out of ten on :)s.
Hopefully the doctor will give me some kind of personality-altering pills and I will morph into one of those loud, fun people who don’t care about anything. Or, I will revert into myself a little more because they will numb me and I won’t be able to moan anymore. We’ll see. But it’s a long way to March.
Work friends and college friends, I am thinking of you. A few of you are overdue your love letters. Some of you have gotten me through some really tough days recently, and I have a feeling you know that already. I really appreciate it. You are all amazing, you really are.