“There are two stories for every life: the one you live and the one others tell.” – Mitch Albom
People have pointed out to me that I have been neglecting the blog lately, and to be honest, it’s intentional. My body has thrown me for a loop, once again, and I tend to withdraw from writing when I’m dejected because EVERYTHING IS TERRIBLE isn’t so fun to read.
And yet, I shall try.
The panic attack from Lollapalooza somehow morphed its way into a kidney infection (I was probably very sick that night, got a flash fever, and didn’t know). I went through two rounds of different antibiotics, and still don’t really feel that great. The rotting cherry on top of this shitshow sundae is that the panic attacks have stayed, apparently for no fucking reason, and I hate them.
I almost feel like the dude from Green Eggs and Ham. I have gone into panic mode on a train – and as of today – a plane! If you’ve never had a panic attack, I suggest you start by having them on modes of transportation that are in kind of close quarters, and very limited access to escape. It’s totes cool, as the kids say.
But my MO as of late, when they happen, is to just keep walking around. I figure, I can’t breathe but I can walk, and if I can walk, then I am still alive, and staying alive is the goal (although I have also gasped for air, and cried, and poured sweat, and cried, and tried to swallow and/or yawn, and counted backwards, and thought of all the misdeeds I’ve done, and the good deeds I’ve done, and wondered if this is truly the end, which would suck because THINGS WERE GOING SO WELL!).
There are theories as to why this is happening: 1) self-sabotage (things are going well; might as well fuck something up), 2) the past rearing its ugly head (still coming to terms with all things Ian even though I have seemingly moved on), 3) my body is tired of not being treated like the temple that it is, has given up and said “FUCK THIS SHIT,” and is systematically just shutting down until its demands are met.
But yeah. I feel shitty and generally pained all the time. And I feel shitty for feeling shitty, because some people have real problems and they’re just like, “Hey problems, still hanging out?” And the problems are like, “Yeah I just can’t get my shit together; staying for a little while longer…” and the people are like, “Ugh. Okay. Just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
So. I’m going to try and get into the doctor before I leave this weekend (roadtrip to Indianapolis and D.C. woot!), and see if they can figure out why the fuck or what the fuck or how the fuck (because at this point they think I’m a hypochondriac, probs – and really, my family, friends, boyfriend are probably sick of hearing me be like, “BUT WHAT ABOUT NOW? AM I DYING NOW?”).
But, all things considered otherwise, life’s pretty good. And sometimes, that reminder is all you need (but also, maybe Xanax).
Have a good night, friends. Be kind to yourselves.