Friday ( don’t judge spelling and shit when I’m just writing as fast as it comes out)

 I can’t think of a title or even what I’m going to write about. My depression has been deep lately. I regret changing my medication around. You can’t know in advance that it’s going to be a car crash though so, I guess regret it pointless. 

My body is in a near constant state of panic. Not only does that feel draining mentally but physically it’s not healthy to have a constant flow of adrenaline. None of my jeans fit. None of my leggings fit. My shirts are starting to look like I’m a little girl I’m an adults clothing. I’ve had to take off my rings, I friggin lost my favorite thumb ring! It slipped off somewhere. 

I don’t want to work on my channel. I’ve even told Robb that I can’t talk for a bit. I have limited tolerance to people other than the ones I live with. 

How is panic different from anxiety? Is a question that I get asked a lot. Well, anxiety is being unable to stop worrying or feeling a sense of doom. I have to have like three backup plans for any given situation.

Panic is the feeling that you can’t survive this overwhelming sense of urgency while still in your body. Your brain wants to unzip your skin and run like a Gump. Noise is jolting. Voices are jolting, literally like pain. Your brain can’t shut it down. Just shut the fuck up already. I can’t catch my breath. I can’t steady my eyes. God Damn.

This is raw. You want to know what’s kind of funny. Usually I can tell when something on the news is getting to be too much so I ignore it. Tune it out. Turn it off. And that’s fine. Or I put things on the box! This one caught me off guard because I saw it happen in real time. Will Smith. Yup. This particular spiral started the night of the Oscars. How? Was it Will Smith hitting Chris Rock? No. I’ve never been hit as a form of abuse. It was his voice, tone, face, body language while he screamed from his seat. 

My brain went nuts. My body felt it and reacted. That’s the way I was screamed at in my home growing up. That’s the way that the oldest boy screams at me. That’s the way my daughter was screaming when my brain had my mouth say “ Mom, stop!” To her nearly a year ago. THAT RAGE. 

This too shall pass. I’d just prefer to be in a coma until it does.

Also, I think it looks like it’s about time for me to stop looking for a picture. 

Tracy