overcome my anxiety

Almost gone. I haven’t had a panic attack in forever. I was thinking about it the other day and I remembered the last one I had and just thought ‘Fuuucccckkkkk. That was me?’ I can’t imagine having one now. I don’t think I could cope. But anyways, I doubt I would have one anyway. I don’t get mega panicky about stuff anymore, not any of the little things anyway. I still have some ‘issues’ but meh, I’m way better than I was. I’m pretty chilled now, dude =P

Still, this will stay here for a little while longer.

[ps. If I sound fucked then you should totally blame it on my painkillers :/]

Screw you, anxiety. You’re getting beaten by a girl.

=P

It’s actually not so bad anymore.

Win.
=]

I’m totally pwning this.

=P

Getting better. Now I don’t feel like a pathetic loser because I suffer from anxiety problems and anyone who DOES think that can kiss my ass. Especially my stupid fucking boss.

Anyway, yeah. It’s getting better. I’m starting to care less about things and what people think so that’s helping. Plus I’m starting to feel better about myself for some reason I’m not sure of. I’m starting to look different, too. People keep saying I’ve lost weight. Maybe I have? I don’t know.

x

I’m too tired to write the whole big story right now, but I DO want to leave an entry here so I’ll shorten it a bit.

Recently I’ve REALLY started to think about why I allow certian things to get to me like they do and i’ve realized it’s because sometimes I just care too much. It’s stupid and i hate it but a lot of it has to do with how I look. Urgh. Sometimes when I think about it it just makes NO sense, but there it is. Sometimes I feel like shit because I look like shit and then that makes me not want to go out. A normal person would just go ‘fuck it. It doesn’t matter.’ but innerGemma takes it and screams ‘OH MY GOD! WE ARE NOT GOING OUT!’ and then she throws a million other things at me and pretty soon I’m having a huge panic attack and she’s just sitting there going ‘Ah. I knew you’d come round’ while my lungs struggle to fucking work.

So anyway. I’m really starting to wonder WHY I care so much and I don’t really know. I shouldn’t care at all about what anyone thinks of me at ALL. Part of me doesn’t. Part of me is completely like ‘I honestly don’t care.’ and I like that, but I wish that part was bigger. [if this whole entry is messed up and horrible to read then sorry. I’m very tired]

ANYWAY [again!] A few days ago I was going through all of the music that I have on my laptop and a lot of the CD’s I made up when I was 14/15. So I was listening to these songs that I hadn’t heard in forever and they reminded me of things, some of which I had almost totally forgot, and a few songs in paticular just hit me. It’s like they just got this whole new meaning when I was listening to them and I got really..emotional without really knowing why. It was weird and for a minute or two I was a bit like ‘Oh hello, what’s going on here?’ because it was so sudden. [There is a point to all of this] It was like I hadn’t really listened to them before, or I HAD but I just got something different from them then. After hearing one paticular song I had this overwhelming feeling of ..just.. ‘Why SHOULD I care? You don’t know anything about me, you don’t know what my life has been like, you don’t know why I do the things that I do or why I like what I like or anything.’ It felt great and it still does.

Walking home from work on my own was easy after that, so was getting the bus in morning, everything was easier. So I feel good about this. I feel a bit more…free.

A little part of me feels like I should feel stupid for this whole thing, for crying over a song I liked when I was 15, for writing about it here, for having it change my life [even just a tiny bit] but that’s just me caring too much again. So I don’t care.

I’m usually better at writing things down but tonight ,must be my weird night. Oh well..

=]
x

I’m getting better. I walk to and from work [which is pretty far] on my own, mostly, without totally freaking out. When I’m walking back home I usually get Margaret to the big clock in the villiage [she usually goes to Tesco then] and walk the rest of the way myself. I don’t mind that so much and I’ve noticed I don’t rush like I used to, which means I don’t collapse on the couch as soon as I get home.

I’m starting to feel a little less pathetic, though I have stopped at least twice while writing this and thought ‘and what? Do you want a cookie? CHILDREN walk to and from places on their own, and you can’t?’ but fuck that. I have to accept that for some reason I NOW have this…problem [blah] even if I don’t understand why. I used to be brilliant when I was a bit younger. I used to get the bus into town and meet my mum when she finished work, and I remember at least once when I went to the shop across the road with my hair in crazy braids because my sister was making my hair go wavy. I looked a complete state but I didn’t care. Now I don’t like going out unless I look..okay. I never think I look brilliant or anything, but as long as I look..decent then I’m happy.

It’s not..that I care what people think because I’m really starting to not care at all. I don’t actually know WHAT it is. I just feel more comfortable when I don’t look like I’ve just rolled out of the ugly farm.

rereads everything
I’m so messed up.. no wonder I don’t have anyone. I’m going to die alone. wails

:/

I hate being like this. I hate having this lable on me. I hate people thinking that it isn’t a real problem.I hate when they think it IS a problem, a huge problem that makes me this weak little stupid, pathetic person who needs people to talk in hushed voices with sympathetic smiles. I hate them thinking I’m just looking for attention or sympathy when I have an attack. I hate it. All of it. I wish it would all just fucking go away. Sometimes it feels like there’s no point in trying to do anything about it, that it’ll just always be a part of me. It feel so…hopeless. I hate that too. I SHOULD be able to do something about this. If I’ve overcome so many other things then..why not this? I just need one person to ask ME about it and what it’s like for me and all that stuff instead of having three people telling me what THEY think I should do, and what life was like for THEM and what THEY did when they were stressed and how THEY got over their problems.

My dad…he’s just comparing me to him. And it’s like…if it hasn’t happened to him or if he hasn’t had to deal with it, then it doesn’t matter.

“Anxiety? You’re too young to have anxiety! What have YOU got to be anxious about? You’re 17!”

“Stress? Don’t tell me about stress! I deal with stress everyday and I get through it. You’re just sitting back and letting it get to you.” [read: Gemma, it’s your fault.]”

“Panic? Don’t talk to me about panic! You wouldn’t know panic if it hit you in the face!”

“Shyness? I was shy but life soon knocked that out of me! Do what I did…” [he was reading a booklet a therapist gave to me called ‘Shyness and social anxiety’. I gave it to him after an arguement.]

“Depression? You don’t know what you’re talking about! You’re too young to be depressed. You’re 17! You don’t feel a lot of things when you’re young.”

God. 43things has turned me into SUCH a whiney bastard. shakes fist No wonder no one likes me. [/misplaced attempt at humour.]