I feel absolutely sick to my stomach with anxiety, and it's pretty bad, I must say. I can hardly breathe, and I'm all hot (not in a good way), and my chest hurts, and I want to die (although that's nothing new). I keep having to go back and fix typos, because my fingers won't behave and type steadily. But I'm surrounded by my family here, so I can't show any symptoms, and I have to act all normal. All I can do is listen to loud music and try to calm down without anyone noticing there was anything wrong in the first place. If I keep busy, or look like I am, hopefully no one will talk to me, and I can work on fixing this. Why does this have to happen all the time? It seems like I'm getting worse and worse at managing these attacks, or maybe they're getting worse, or both. And I never know what will set them off either, or when they will occur, and I hate it. Well, I hate everything. But this is more hateful than most things are.
Oh yeah, okay, so I have some news about me, and it's very interesting. About a week ago, I went to see a psychiatrist, and she diagnosed me with actual depression and anxiety, as well as a social phobia, so apparently I really do have real problems after all. Isn't that interesting? I wasn't making all this up after all, it seems. Now I'm going to therapy, although the psychiatrist wasn't entirely pleased with that, because she wanted to put me on medications, and I refused (I mean my dad was angry enough that I was going to seek mental help at all; I wouldn't want him to disown me or anything). Failing that, she wanted me to go to a mental hospital and do intensive therapy, but I'm not really thrilled with that idea, because it would be six hours a day, and it would be with a bunch of other people, all of whom would probably beat me up for not having real enough issues. Plus, I'm not really sure I need it (although my mom seems to be intrigued). But I think I need something, because right now, I'm barely functioning. However, that might be normal, and everyone is dealing with the same thing I am, and I'm just weak. That could be. Or maybe not. I thought that everyone regularly considers suicide, and thinks out plans and stuff, but apparently that's not a thing, so maybe none of the other stuff is typical either. I don't know. But I'm really ashamed of myself anyway. And it's not like I can talk about this stuff with anyone either, like come on.
"Why can't you hang out?" "Oh, you know, the very thought of seeing people makes me feel physically ill, no offense!" "Want to come shopping today?" "Well, I would love to, but I struggled for an hour to get out of bed this morning, and even greeting my family was almost more than I could manage, so I'll have to take a rain check this time, so sorry!"
Yeah, no. That wouldn't go over. Am I being dishonest by pretending to be okay when I'm really not? Maybe. But it's the lesser of two evils in this case, I think. And it's not like people aren't used to me never doing things. I've never been good at accepting invitations for things, whether because of anxiety (which I realize now I've always had, albeit much more mildly), or genuine busy-ness, so it shouldn't seem weird now if I disappear off the face of the earth for awhile. I wish it didn't have to be this way. I really do like most people, and my inability to interact with them has absolutely nothing to do with them and their complete loveliness. I want to talk to them or hang out with them, I really do, but I just can't, and I feel guilty about it, since I hope they don't think I don't like them or anything. And I'm really lonely, I think, but I'm too sick to do anything about it. Now that I write about it, I realize how totally pathetic I am. I'm pretty contemptible, aren't I? Yeah, I'm the worst.
Oh dear, I'm really dreading tomorrow. I hate Sundays, because I have to teach, and teaching makes me want to kill myself (even more than usual). It's the only way I can make money, so I have to do it, but it causes me such misery that sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. I'm being whiny I know; it's a rare thing to be gainfully employed at my age, and it's one day of work per week in exchange for a year's supply of money for books and food, so I really do have it pretty good. But that knowledge doesn't make me like it. Anyway, that's not the only reason I'm dreading tomorrow. Allie's mom is having a party, and she very kindly invited me and Sonia, and Mom heard about it, and now she's making me go. It's not that I don't appreciate the invitation, but I would be perfectly fine with declining it and waiting for another day. But the last time I went out anywhere for fun (or "fun") was like two or three weeks ago, and I guess that's not healthy, so now I have to go party. #sundayfunday #turnup #notreallytho
Ugh.
I should probably go to bed soon, but I don't want to. I'm just going to lie awake having an existential crisis anyway. Sometimes I wish I were a robot so I could just turn my brain off when I needed to rest. Would it be bad to watch some TV shows now? Yeah, probably. I guess I'll try to sleep. Who knows, maybe I'll succeed. Okay, goodnight!
