What I don't understand is why he included his entire sigblock in one of his comments.

Smonster, I totally would have done what you did. Concussions are nothing to mess with (spicy brains don't do we'll with scrambling). The excessive sleeping sounds scary. Glad that it turned out to be nothing but expensive, but it could also have been irreparable damage :(

Wedding invitations are addressed, stuffed, sealed, and ready for the post office. Woo.

Full-on hysterical crying, hyperventilating panic attack in public on the sidewalk at the corner going to the movie theater. We did not go to the movie.

Last week of work this week. (See above, re: panic attack.)

I'm not doing well at all.

t edit I miss the days of LiveJournal being the off-board place to grouse, grumble, and otherwise freak out. I could have a "Sheer Unmitigated Panic" filter and post there so that I could stop being a big fucking whiner here. I'm so sorry to keep whining, but I feel like if I can't talk about how I'm feeling, it's going to crush me.

Ok, its not "whining" if not talking about how you're feeling is going to crush you. Silly.

We're all team "don't crush Teppy" here.

Teppy, what Trudy said. Also, I don't post much on livejournal anymore, but I still read there, so feel free to vent away there as well. Is there anything we can do to help with the panic?

Oh Steph, we are here for you when you need us, and honestly it's not whining. You are gong through some massive changes right now, and the hardest ones aren't of your own choosing, which makes them harder.

Is there anything we can do to help with the panic?

I've been thinking about that, and I'm not sure. It's different from depression in that I can't talk myself through it; when I try to talk myself through it, it's like throwing gas on a fire. Like so:

Anxiety Brain: You're never going to get a job you have no skills no talents no motivation you're going to be living in a cardboard box in 2 weeks and not even a nice box.

Me: I won't be living in a cardboard box; Tim owns this house.

Anxiety Brain: You'll be aloooooone in your shitty cardboard box because Tim will leave you because you're an unemployable deatbeat with no skills and a horrible personality.

Me: Tim won't leave me. That...that would be horrible. Oh god, what would I do if he left me? He wouldn't leave me. ...Unless he died. Oh my god, he could die tomorrow. He could fall in the shower right now* and die holy shit holy shit HOLY SHIT I NEED TO GET HIM OUT OF THE SHOWER RIGHT NOW WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HAPPENING?

*(He is, in fact, in the shower right now. But still alive.)

So, as you can see, I'm not too successful at talking down the Anxiety Brain. I'm not sure if asking people to help talk me through it would help, either.

I wish I *did* know what I need, what could help.

I too suck at talking down my anxiety brain, but I can say without a doubt that your anxiety brain is lying to you. I know it is hard to believe that when the anxiety brain is so loud and persistent, but I am happy to repeat it as often as you need to hear it.

I wish I *did* know what I need, what could help.

It may not be socially acceptable, but an hour at the pistol range is stellar for dealing with brain hamsters that are stuck on the wheel.

Steph, I'm going to need my brain back when you're done borrowing it.