Time is too Slow

I’m unsure as to how to proceed with this post. Should I talk more about the aftermath of recovering?  Should I talk about how my weight upsets me? Should I talk about how much I want to cut myself lately? Or my decision to not date or have any type of romantic contact?
Why don’t I just talk about all of them? Let’s do that.
First on my mind: Relationship thing. I made this decision yesterday because I have become sick to hurting myself (literally) of getting hurt, violated, looking over for someone “better” or someone who fits a preferred mold. I’m done with trying to guess whether a guy likes me or not– friends or not friends? Am I good enough for you? I am done with guess and getting hurt. I have better, more worthwhile, things to do than wait for someone for me who probably doesn’t exist. I will only accept a miracle man. I man who shows me that he is brave and won’t play games. A man who is honest and strong. That man will have to accept me for who I am and all of my craziness. My emotional roller-coaster-ness.I will change for that man. 

      On top of being shunted aside for more beige-like-personalities, I’m not thin enough. It frustrates me beyond belief that there isn’t one man who genuinely believes I am beautiful but I guess my personality is such an affliction that beauty can’t over power it. Which is impressive because many have admitted that they wanted me just to get laid. 
I want so desperately to be that one woman you see and just say, “wow.” The unattainable beauty that people remember and not another person on the bus, in class, or at a party. I want to be spectacular. Then jaw-dropping when they find out that I am whip-lash smart but I’m not these. To others, I am just some rape victim who wasn’t intelligent to keep herself safe. That is what is making me want to cut. It’s hard to shut out the words because they are my own and proven through experience. I’m not sure how to handle any of this. 

Root Rot.

B: Tell the story about something interesting (anything!) that happened to you, but tell it in the form of an instruction manual (Step 1, Step 2, Step 3….)
Step 1:
I don’t have an interesting thing I want to focus on. A million things bounce around my head reading those words.
Step 2:
my mind focuses on the one thing I can’t talk about. Focuses on the flashbacks that bubble up like sewage–the memory, the feel, the betrayal. How ripped to shreds I felt afterwards, like my world was impacting on itself and leaving nothing but a shaking and terrified thing in its wake.
I felt like I was nothing. Nothing more than to be hurt and used. Why was a such a fool? Did this really just happen to me?
“No, no, no, no, no… please let this be another nightmare. Oh, please let me wake up. Please let the pain go away. Please, please, let this be a dream–don’t let this be real.” I thought and as the pain got worse, I knew it wasn’t a dream, and I wanted to scream, cry, rage, and run away. I didn’t. I literally just curled up into a ball. I pulled my knees to my chest, my fingers knotted in my hair as if that would make this go away, and I began to shake. My whole body and my head at the same time–no, no, no.
Step 3:
For the next couple of days, I was hollow. I did my best to not let it show. Yet, it felt and still feels as if everyone can see straight through me. I’m becoming invisible, though, to myself. I don’t know who I am anymore. I feel that all I am now is that one horrifying memory. That one day, I’ll scream, be torn apart by its surfacing and yet, I feel like I’m rotting from the inside out.

This. Is. BATSHIT INSANE!

I haven’t been doing P90x and I feel horrible about it. I got the dvds I needed today, though, so I can finally do them.
My potters wheel? Turns out that it needs to be fixed and the lady of whom we bought it from lied to us. Bitch.
I have tired doing sketches but I am having a really hard time finding a clean art-pad. I might have to go back to painting. Which is messy and Dad gets pissed.
I didn’t go to swim practice today because I felt downright awful.
My brother helped me with SAT’s today and I finally understand how to figure out the word problems.

My anxiety hasn’t really gotten any better because I haven’t been, in my opinion, finishing anything. I feel lazy and stupid. Mom says to just set a schedule because she knows I do well with those. She doesn’t really make me feel motivated at the moment because she just reminds me of all of the other things I need and should be doing or should have or needed to be finished already. I am beyond frustrated with everyone and myself.

I need to clean my room
I need to attend swim team
I need to finish my paintings
I need to throw on the wheel
I need to make three pies
I need to study for the SAT’s
I need to do school
I need to do yard work
I need read the books people have given me
I need to weed the garden
I need to use my skateboard
I need to schedule a dentist appointment
I need to keep the house clean
I need to pray
I need to learn to play an instrument
I need to practice singing
I need to finish writing songs for the band
I need to get a job so I can pay for my tattoo
I need to learn to drive

I am going to go batshit insane. That or kill someone.

No Drama

The most common thing I have heard about panic attacks are that panic attacks are always ‘quite a show’ and that they are dramatic. They’re not, usually; however, that doesn’t mean that they are not any less terrifying, painful, or have any less of an effect on a person. Mine have never been super dramatic or that I can remember.
I have had panic attacks since I was five years old. I get them multiple times per day and what is worse, is that I can’t predict them. I feel out of control. On top of dealing with panic attacks, I deal with depression, eating disorders, and hallucinations . My life has been, what seems, an everlasting battle between self-control and the urge to just let go; go into an insanity spiral.

A good portion of people ask me to describe a panic attack because they find it hard to believe, and I don’t blame them, that I have that many a day. A panic attack for me is as if someone is crushing my heart, while punching me in the stomach, then squeezing my head, and all I want to do is run away screaming or throw things.Yet I am terrified of moving. When I do have a panic attack, my hallucinations goes into overdrive: I see and hear things that only make it worse because I have yet figured out how to control that. On occasion, my seeing things will trigger a panic attack; aside from the random ones.

I am doing my best to deal with all of this with a sense of grace and intelligence. It is hard but I am lucky enough to have the help of my family and friends. That is what this blog will be about: my journey to finding control over my own mind. Hopefully it will work and maybe it will help someone else like me as well.