I spent last night in the throes of a panic attack, the first one I have full fledged had in years. It was almost four in the morning, and all I wanted to do was to talk to someone, get all the problems out and have an actual person listen. I poured my heart out into my journal for an hour, but that did not satiate it — I wanted actual human contact. I curled up in bed and debated the people I could call, who have all offered to listen should I need to talk: \”A,\” Maude, Jam, Karen, Eran — I even almost called an ex- of mine whom I have not spoken to since March. But these people are not my therapists and it is not right to use them as such. I cannot reach my therapist at night and my next appointment is not until Thursday afternoon. It was not a complete crisis, so I did not call my psychiatrist, who hates being awoken in the middle of the night.
Where do you draw the line between being a friend and being a burden? At what point do people start to see you as crazy? At what point do you start to drive people away? Having made all these mistakes so often in the past, I am hesitant to go anywhere near down those roads again. I do not even want to peer down the path. In the end, a little handful of narcotics knocked me out and I managed on my own, the way I always do lately. Completely terrified to lean on anyone for support, not even five pounds of my weight. Completely terrified to ask for anything, because I am convinced that I really do not need anything or anyone but myself, that I am better off isolated and contained and closed off. I was not like this before dating this guy (oh, regret), but before him, I was too needy. Now I am as stubbornly solitary as he was, or even still is, for all I know. I am still an island. But what is better — to be an island, or a sponge?
Everything is going wrong at the last minute, despite my careful planning, the way it always does, and I am really terrified. I cannot even get back into right now because I know I will have another panic attack, despite the daylight pouring in behind me. I am supposed to see Maude tonight at Heaven for the electro show, but I am tempted to tell him I am too busy to make it. He likely will not go with out me, and then I will go on my own. I do not want to see him, or anyone I am close-ish with, because I know that if I do I will torture myself about whether or not I should say anything. Twenty four more hours until I get a fifty minute therapy session. I am not sure that is going to be enough. WhatshouldIdowhatshouldIdowhatshouldIdo? I wish this weekend was over with already so that I knew my decision.
