In Which I Realize Something

Dear World:

I think I've got it.  My therapist is there to let me vent and tell me that I am not wrong to feel frustrated and angry at the situation.  To allow and accept and then gently move me past the negative (non-helpful) emotions to a place where I can look around and take a deep breath.

Got it.

Sincerely,

Me.

In Which I Breathe

Dear World:

Today, you sent me a letter at work.  The second I saw it, my heart rate sped up and I could feel that electric zing along my skin that meant I was about to hit a panic attack.  Over the possibility that what was inside the envelope could be, somehow, my fault.  This probably seems ridiculous to someone not neck-deep in it.  And it is.  Utterly ridiculous.  Yet there it was.  Sitting on my chest and buzzing in my ears.  I could barely breathe at the idea of what could be in a damn envelope.

Anticipatory stress.  I knew it was something that I experienced at an extremely elevated level so I decided to put the envelope to the side and not open it until I could pick it up without hyperventilating. 

It took almost ten minutes (and multiple aborted attempts), but I was finally able to do it and, as it turns out, the contents were completely benign.

So, ten points to House Hufflepuff.

Sincerely,

Me.

In Which I Learn

Dear World:

I have learned that those things which I do to keep myself from "going" crazy, those things I do so that I feel like I can be prepared for the worst...those things are slowly destroying me.

I'm sure that anyone looking in a window to my brain would offer up a condescending "well, of course" and I'm fairly certain that a portion of my brain knew that what I was doing wasn't really productive.  But, when you're just sitting there, helpless to change anything, you start spinning your wheels.  You ignore the smell of burning rubber just to feel like you're doing something.

Now to figure out better ways to twiddle my mental fingers.

Sincerely,

Me.