Warning: Expect foul language. I often blog when sleep deprived, and even when I'm not sleep deprived I cuss.
Warning the second: TMI often occurs. Read at your own risk. Feel free to laugh at my expense (I know I do!).
Warning the third: I suppose I should just put a general Trigger Warning here. I talk about mental illness (Anxiety, panic disorder, depression, social shit), abuse (rarely), and my fucked up relationship with food. And...other things. Actually, just consider this a general warning: If you might be triggered by things, you probably should read no further.

Tuesday, February 14, 2012

Dancing in Crazytown

Whenever I say the word "crazytown" the strains of "Funkytown" play in my head. Which is why I use the word. Anything to lighten things up. Horrible nightmares last night. I can never explain *why* they're so horrible to people, because the content of the dream is not what's terrifying. The content of the dream only matters incidentally. The visceral fear is what gets me, what wakes me up with my heart pounding, frozen in bad while my terrified mind tries to figure out if I'm *actually* awake or if it's a false awakening. False awakenings are the worst, because they give you this moment of relief before pounding you with more fear. False awakenings give me the worst kind of anxiety attack. I feel like my heart's going to jump out of my chest and it's hard to breathe. Even without the false awakenings it's bad enough. It's hard to breathe because my brain is not convinced that the terror is just in my dream and is trying to keep me from moving at all. I'll just freeze in my bed, trying to make not the slightest of motions. That's why I'm awake right now. Because I don't want more nightmares. They've been happening a lot lately, and so far last night was the worst. I'm hoping I can exhaust myself enough to fall into a deep sleep and skip the bone chilling nightmares. I'm a wreck, and it's hard not to be hysterical. It's illogical and impossible to explain. So I reach out desperately, loopily, frenetically and giddily chat online with anyone who will talk to me. It doesn't have to be about anything. Just happy noise to pretend I'm fooling my brain. I hate losing my grip, I refuse to lose my grip, but I can't help but lose my grip. I can't talk to my mother about it, because however well-meaning she is, she's still one of *those* Christians. The ones who think that if I just *believe* more, read the bible *more* I'll be *poof* mentally well! I said I thought I needed to go into counseling because of a traumatic event (that I don't wish to talk about here and have only told two other people at this point), and she said I just need to read the word more. Right. Because, y'know, I never crack the Bible. Ever. Nope. Not me. I'm a regular old heathen. When my faith in God is the only thing (barely) holding me together I really Really REALLY resent that attitude. This seems like a huge block of text, but it's really nothing compared to what I'm feeling, screaming inside. I will get better. I WILL get better. I just have to remind myself that it always gets better. Sure doesn't help when it's happening though.

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