I had a panic attack. A horrible one. Crying, thrashing, suicideal thoughts. I think it was among the worst I've ever had, and if you've ever seen my wrist, you know how big of a statement that is. But I didn't cut this time, and I'm proud, but since the panic attack feelings are still there, I'm also kind of disappointed. Cutting helps calm down the suicide feels and the pain. But I have reasons not to cut. People I would hurt. Gods damn it...
The reason behind said panic attack is this whole apartment moving stuff. I'm afraid that we won't be able to afford a place if we don't live with Jeff. I only get $721 a month for my SSI, and Ben brings in even less for his job. Car insurance is going to cost a good hundred dollars or more. Plus groceries. Plus utilities. Plus internet. Plus rent. Plus gasoline for my car. Plus repairs for my car. Plus moving costs, which include a few hundred for the truck, and bribe money to get my friends to help. Plus any animal costs if we get a cat, which would help calm me down. Plus saving up for when we get a house? Holy fuck! There's no way we'll be able to afford that on so damn little. There's very little chance we can get Welfare, and even if we did, it wouldn't be much at all. Not enough to make a difference. See why I'm stressed? Do you SEE why I'm stressed? All this, running through my head twenty four seven, when I haven't seen my therapist in a few months cuz I keep getting sick, and I'm down two VERY important psych meds that I can't get more of until Monday, and you have an Amber that isn't sure if she should just check herself into the psych ward.
Maybe I should just go to the hospital. But that woulldn't do any good, because psych wards don't do a godsdamned thing for you except try drug cocktails until you're no longer suicidal. Art class and exercise doesn't help problems like mine!
I just don't know what to do. I keep thinking about knives and razor blades and I know I shouldn't. I won't. I know I won't. Doesn't mean I don't desperately want to.
And John's still fucking here, so I can't even talk to Mom about all this stuff. I had to drag her into my room and close the door to tell her I was extra stressed, and corner her in the laundry room this afternoon to tell her about my panic attack. I hope to the gods he leaves on Friday when he's supposed to. Everybody pray for him to get better so he can leave.
Everything's so damn messed up in my head right now. I want to just go to bed and sleep until this is all taken care of. Are we ever going to be able to afford kids? He doesn't want to leave his 15 hour a week job, doesn't want to go back to school very much (otherwise he'd work towards it). I obviously can't get a job right now, if I'm getting like this over something as little as being able to afford to live in an apartment. I just want to scream until my lungs bleed.
I want to curl up into a ball and cry. I cried quite a few times in bed last night during my panic attack, and on the phone with Ben today. It's like I never went to therapy at all, or was taking any psych drugs. This is what it was like before all that. I don't want to fuck things up with Ben like I do with everything else. I'm in love with him, and this might be the first time that it's the real love. I want to keep that. I want to grow old with him and have tons of kids and be happy. But I'm gonna fuck it up, I just know it. Gods, please help me?
I promise I won't cut.
