Centuries later

I hate panic attacks. It’s been a while since I had one that bad, where I needed to have external help to redirect. The tears, the inability to breathe, the giant wave of complete despair. I had to go down my phone list and call people until I found someone I could talk to. It took about a thousand years in panic attack time, and I was just debating whether to call the fucking crisis line just to get a real human – when a wonderful friend answered the phone. At 8pm on a Sunday. Thank goodness.

Oh god each one hurts so much, it’s simply agony – and the kind that people don’t understand, have little time or compassion for. I resorted to shots of whiskey and beer in order to get it under control – and those are absolutely the last resort. Now I’m exhausted, traumatized by the whole thing, and just ready to give up. I have nothing, my life means nothing, and I can’t think of a single thing to look forward to, which is a heartbreakingly terrible sign.

SOTD

Human Touch – UTIOG

 

 

 

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