Sunday, 8 January 2012

Terror and rage

Raging panic attacks, it's hideous, I'm terrified. I feel so unsafe. Someone's coming for me and there's nothing I can do.

I'm terrified but I'm furious. I'm furious no-one's saving me. I'm furious no-one protected me when they should have.

I was seeing the pain as a cry for help against whatever this nameless threat is, but that's wrong. The pain isn't a cry for help. It's the fury I feel at being left to face that threat, alone and exposed. With no-one to help me but me.

I'm cycling round through fear to rage and back again, and now shoulder's flaring, despite all the pills I've already taken, and which we're working fine. Maybe the pain is both fear and edge, but I need it all to stop.

I can't make myself small enough to feel safe. And having the lights on isn't helping. I'm hiding under the covers and I'm roasting, it's so hot, but I'm terrified if I put even a hand out, he'll get me

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