I'm writing this tonight riddled with anxiety. I don't know where to start, so I'm just going to spill it all until the Xanax makes me fall asleep:
Long story short, I get panic attacks. I get panic attacks worrying that I'll have a panic attack. I've lost friends and jobs and now I fear that I'm losing my mind. My anxiety makes me physically ill. I can't control it.
Most days I feel like I'm medicated within an inch of my life. I want to stop taking the Paxil, Colonopin, and Xanax but I'm terrified of the consequences. I want to live my life again. I want to travel. I want to go to Europe and Asia like I did less than ten years ago. I can't even think about going to a friend's wedding less than a two hour drive away without evil bats swarming my stomach.
I was OK in college but a terrible breakup left me in the gutter emotionally and I haven't been able to get out since. I've been laid off from two jobs (one I loved the other I could have done without). Both lay offs left me with this intense fear of starting any job. Twice I've committed to jobs only to fake an illness at the last minute. Then I have to make the embarrassing phone call to the HR director saying that I can't take the job. I'm terrified that this is all a viscous cycle that will end with me living in my parents' basement forever.
I have dreams of grandeur but I'm terrified that those dreams will never be lived out. Law school, traveling, dating a handsome man, marrying and having kids, having the career of my dreams -- sports agent. I don't want to wake up one day and realize that I'm 50 and never did a single thing because of this anxiety. I've heard all of the cliches about life, love, etc. In fact, I've heard them so often, I resent them.
So there. That is my first virtual diary entry. It may not be coherent but I don't know if anyone will even read it. But if you are out there, comment. Let me know you've been where I've been.