Panic, panic
Yesterday I think I had a mild panic attack. Mild because I'm not really sure what would be a full fledge one. But I thought I was gonna die. Again.
It had been a while since last time. A few years. And last time I just flipped because I had an arm pain. Well, no. There was the time last year I thought I was going to die because of a periodontic cleaning. I was pretty freaked out.
And last night again, because of a tooth ache. I had it the whole day. I had hopes of going to sleep, and it going away, much like a headache. But than I remembered stuff the dentist said last time, about bacteria traveling. And I freaked out. And then my heart was racing, and I couldn't fall asleep, because I was too scared something would happen while I slept, and I wouldn't wake up. And I started to cry, in despair.
And the thing is, lately there's just so much wrong, that when I get desperate about one thing, sudenly it's all the things. It's the nothing-makes-sense-anymore thing. And it sucks. It's the hopelessness.
Aaron Carter's death didn't helped at all. He couldn't make it work. How can I?
I need rest, and I need money. But I also need purpose. I need goals, but I need support. I need means, safety to reach those goals. Or at least give it my best shot.
I'm so sick of thinking I'm failing. At life. At everything.
I don't know when things got this bad again.
Surely when I routinely say I'll do things I don't. Like paying for three years of prep-course not to take it seriously.
I do wanna go to college, but I'm damn scared, because I don't know how I'll support myself financially through it. And I already blew one graduation, by being to exhausted to pay real attention to it. I don't wanna go through all the trouble, to not actually be there.
And there's the band shbang. All the frustration and disappointment of the last couple of years. And now that it don't seem to be on the way to anything better. Thiago is back, yeah. And we have a practice space, yeah. But I just don't feel like it's going to be the saving grace expected.
Everything seems out of place. Like my room. My room is the perfect metaphor. But to fix my actual room I need money, or to be in debt, and I wanted to do this in a mature way. Because I can afford it.
I need to clean and assemble my bed. I need to start studying for prep-course. I need to get a grip on my eating habits, and lose the weight. I need to make healthy choises. In life, in general. And find the strenght and the courage to do the things I know will be good for me.
That would be a great start.