Hey. I'm... not sure why I'm here, to be honest. Over the last two decades I've been diagnosed with an ever-changing list of "illnesses": generalized anxiety, PSTD, panic disorder, social anxiety, depression, agoraphobia (not to mention a rather bizarre array of other phobias). The diagnoses seem to change depending in the person I am seeing at the moment, and honestly... none of them feel right. Doesn't really matter, anyhow, as over the years of therapy with various people I've actually built up a fairly useful repertoire of coping mechanisms. I was barely able to function when I was in my late teens and early twenties, but I've been able to hold down a job for the past ten years, and even re-enrolled in university a year and a half ago. I've even done some travelling: not bad for someone who ten year ago was hardly able to bear leaving the house at all.
Still... right now it's hard. It seems when life gets rough, the coping suffers. And it's been rough. The last six months have included:
- my boyfriend was killed by a drunk driver
- the job I loved suddenly ended due to funding cuts
- I started a new art business type thing full time. I have my first exhibition next month, and another in May after that, and yet a third in negotiations for the fall
- started a new part time job that I hate, to help cover the bills
- applied to change education institutions, and changed my major from biological sciences to digital media design; the final application portfolio is due the end of February
- my best friend and closest confidante moved to another country
- my sister (with whom I am also extremely close) moved three hours away to her husband's farm with her new baby. What with the kid and the farm, I don't see much of her at all.
I can feel myself cracking. Last night was the first night in a while that I woke up thinking I was about to die. It happened four times. I haven't had nighttime panic attacks in years. It's scary- not just the panic, but that it's popping up again. I was at my part time job today and had several near-attacks, where I was able to calm myself down. A couple I was... less successful at. I was so exhausted and burnt by noon that I made a lame "family emergency" excuse to my boss and went home, and took tomorrow off too. It's not super truthful, but I don't get sick days. I had the flu two months ago and they made me come in, even though I was puking into a garbage can every 30-45 minutes. The idea of going back there fills me full of dread. But I have to, since it is the only "reliable" income I have, even though my entrepreneurial efforts at least triple what I make there. The art money comes in bulk chunks, though, and not regularly. When Friday comes... I dunno what I'm doing to do.
So I guess that's why I'm here. I'm afraid of the fear.