#I never experienced life without all-encompassing anxiety and fear and panic

[running-in-the-dark]

really kinda feels like I just never developed my own personality. I copy what people that I like like. I pick one person at a time to get obsessed with (actually not a choice, but), and then I become them. unconsciously and unintentionally. and it feels bad. real bad! when there's no one it feels like I'm not even real. there's nothing underneath all the pretending. I'm just not there.

[buckymcbuttfacebarnes]

Calamity (1/?)

pairing: erik killmonger x reader (mythology/modern au)

summary:  Metamorphose, one of the many parts of this story, encompasses the beginnings of Erik’s changes. 

word count: 1.5k

warnings: none!

a/n: alright you guys, so a couple of y’all liked the little preview that i gave for this fic idea, so i think it would be a good idea if i sort of explained how i plan on writing this. i think the plot is going to be nonlinear/chronological, there’s going to be a lot of flashbacks and stuff like that. also later on it’ll start to flip perspectives quite a bit, just to give you background on the main characters, but for these first couple parts they’re gonna focus more on erik, just so i can establish his dilemma, character flaws, etc.!! also, in the summary section of each part i write, i’ll come up with a sub-heading (for example, this one is called Metamorphose, which is written with the purpose of getting to know erik’s changes and the exposition of the story) that i’ll use for future parts that are within the same period or serve the same purpose!! lmao i hope that make sense, i think it will, once im able to get more parts out!!!!!! sorry this is so long omg but thank yall for taking the time to read<333

Her breath hitched in her throat as he stared deep into her eyes. She felt exposed, as if those blazing eyes were looking into her soul. She averted her gaze, but she could still feel his fiery gaze setting her skin aflame. He looked her up and down, she could feel those eyes pricking at her skin like needles, a sensation that raked up and down her body once, twice, three times before his eyes made their way, slowly, back up to her face. They both knew she wanted to cry out. They both knew no one would hear.  

“Look at me.” His own voice sounded foreign to him. Gruff and venomous.

A pause. Her gaze averted downward. In her peripheral she could see a slow traveling pool of blood. Flood of panic. She didn’t look to find the source.

“Look at me!” He boomed.

Suddenly her head snapped upward, unwillingly. There was twenty feet of empty space between them, but she saw the fire in his eyes as if he were standing directly in front of her. His upper body rose and fell vehemently with his heavy breathing, nostrils flaring. With one outstretched hand he pulled her closer, her bare feet slipped and slid across the floor as she tried to stop herself.

His dark chuckle echoed loudly, bouncing around the bare walls, reverberating through her skull, sending cold shivers down her spine. She looked around frantically, her arms bound by invisible chains, her feet skimming across the cool floor in her struggle. He felt her fear, but instead of deterring him he felt fueled by it. He wanted to see her squirm. His outstretched hand rose an inch, he fist slowly closing. Her eyes grew wide with panic, her body writhing in the invisible chains. “Erik!” she choked out in between her gasps for air.

“Getting hard to breathe?” his brow lifted, fingers curling into a tight fist for a flash of a moment before he released completely. As his hand dropped to his side, her body dropped to the ground in a crumpled, defeated heap,  unmoving aside from the rise and fall of each breath. He looked at her stonily, his expression unchanging.“Get up,” he ordered.

Her head lifted, her head turning slowly from one side to the next, surveying the room. Death saturated the air, contaminating the large space with its metallic scent. “You’re a monster,” she spat.

Erik awoke with a gasp, sitting upwards abruptly, a wave of nausea passing through him. He hadn’t even realized how tightly clenched his fists were until he reached up to run his hands over his face. Pain in the shape of half moons dissolved in his palms. His eyes burned from the sunlight flooding in through the blinds.

Instinctively he reached for notepad and pen that he had strategically placed on his nightstand and began to scribble down everything he could recollect of the dream: pain, fear, death, anger, empty, crazed. His pen was itching to write more, his hand shook, his mind was racing - searching for words, phrases, letters, symbols... He squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to recreate the dream in his mind. He blanked. His futile attempts to conjure up the images that had filled his head not even ten minutes before left his mind a blank canvas. An empty white space. The heat of frustration rushed through him, made his fingers twitch. The involuntary motion resulted in a whoosh of air and the subsequent sharp slaps of his pad of paper and pen flying across the room and striking the wall, then the hardwood floor.

This wasn’t the first time this has happened. Four times already this week. Today’s incident made twenty-seven in the past month and a half. The strange dream plagued his sleep, he cannot be sure if it’s the same one each night because he can’t ever remember it fully in the morning. It’s always fragmented and foggy. It ends at the same point. The woman calls him a monster and though he’s had the dream so many times, he wakes up the same way: disoriented, anxious, afraid. The dream itself wasn’t frightening. The vividness and the familiarity of it all is what he found most terrifying. He could feel himself losing control, he could feel himself hurting this woman (whose appearance is completely unknown to him, he only knows she is a woman because of the sound of her voice). He could feel her pain, both physically and emotionally, yet he couldn’t stop himself from hurting her every single time.

The first few times he longed to see the ending, so he would try to fall back asleep upon waking up, in hopes of continuing the nightmare. Perhaps if he got to the end, it would leave him alone. That never worked. After about the sixth time, he had noticed how much the dream had affected him. He had become an anxiety-ridden mess, fearing that perhaps the rage he experienced in the dream was living inside him currently, dormant and waiting to be awakened. It was impossible for him to live with himself.

The fifteenth time occurred in the break room at work.

Seated at a table with a coworker, who would not stop badgering him about going golfing “or something” together, the dream pulled yanked him into the large room with the marble floors. He was gone and didn’t know how to get back. He was paralyzed, only able to listen and feel as his body and mouth moved without his consent.

With a sharp intake of breath he had woken up on his back, staring up at the foggy fluorescent lights of the breakroom.

“Oh—holy shit!” Someone gasped.

He sat up, supported by the hand of one of his coworkers on this middle of his back. Erik winced, a sharp pain striking him behind the eyes.

“Erik? Hey? Are you okay?”

He grunted in response, heaving breath after breath to calm the ache in his head. “What happened?”

“You froze up on me and you fell out of your chair. I thought you had passed out. Your eyes were open.”

“You weren’t breathing, you had no pulse!” A female voice frantically exclaimed, her shrill tone made him wince again.

“You should be dead!”

He refused to go to the hospital with the EMTs that arrived two minutes later.

After that incident he’d felt unsafe in his own body, he questioned whether he should see a specialist of some kind. Out of fear of being told he was losing his mind, he refrained.

He rose from his bed, inhaling and exhaling deeply to settle his abundance of thoughts. He stood in his bathroom. Though he knew he was looking at himself in the mirror, the face that stared back at him was unrecognizable. The man in the mirror, though he shared the same muscular build and same facial features as Erik, looked alarmingly crazed. His eyes were that of a wild animal, darting around every few seconds as if he were living in a constant state of paranoia. Who is this man? Erik asks himself. He’s not me. They stared at one another for a long time, Erik and this unknown man. In his mind, he knew it was him (it had to be, right? they shared the same features...who else could it be?), but there was something deep inside the man’s eyes that told him otherwise.

He washed his face with cold water, it cooled his flushed skin and helped to soothe his frayed nerves. He met his own gaze once again in the mirror, and was very surprised to see the unknown man smiling back at him. Was he smiling? His expression shifted into one of bewilderment, his felt his shoulders sag with worry—cowering at the sight of this ominous alternate version of himself. Suddenly he felt small, and afraid. His reflection remained the same, a secretive smile perched upon its lips. Panicked, Erik’s hand flew up to touch his own face. An anxious cloud settled over him when his reflection did not mime his movements. Instead it stood tall, back erect, brown eyes glazed over with a familiar haze. The reflection was not his own. As he stared into those vacant eyes, he felt a small tug. It was like someone was trying to undo the knot that had formed in his stomach. Gently the force tugged. He didn’t try to fight it. He didn’t want to. Perhaps it was curiosity...perhaps it was out of sheer exhaustion, but Erik felt himself slipping away and he didn’t try to stop. Those eyes were tempting him with something…

But what? Almost immediately after the inquiry had formulated in Erik’s mind, he felt a surge of invigoration. New life had been breathed into him and coursed through his veins. This unknown force bloomed within his chest and for a moment he swore he had the world at his fingertips. His heart raced and grew light in his chest as his sorrow and fear dissolved, replaced with feelings of enlightenment and shocking omnipotence. This lasted a mere few seconds. As his breathing subsided and his pounding heartbeats grew a little slower and a little quieter, he knew what he had just experienced could only be the feeling of pure, unrestrained power. He wanted all of it.

let me know what yall think!! all criticism/comments r very much appreciated!

y’all asked to be tagged so here u go<3333 

@gucci-zjm @groovybbyyy @mykingdomismyheaven

[myaekingheart]

Okay but honestly, though, a minor rambling about empathy because I need to emotionally purge and talk about this for a second (because I'm overflowing). I have no idea if this is the same for every other "emapthetic" person out there but for me, empathy is an overwhelming emotion. It's not even an emotion so much as it's the mismatched combination of every single other person's emotion smothering me from the inside out. It's frustrating and overwhelming and honestly just so fucking wild. I don't even think I can put into words how intense it is. I pick up on everything, though. I can honestly always tell what's going on inside someone, at least emotionally. The why is hazy but the what is always clear as day. And then that "what" enters me and twists my insides around and basically projects itself onto me. It's strongest with people I care deeply for-- my parents, my friends, my boyfriend especially. It's interesting because, as far as I can tell, my boyfriend is this very carefree person. He cares about things, yes, but he's flowing and calm and just...if life were a river, he lets it carry him wherever and makes the best about where he ends up or whatever happens. In terms of emotional perception, he's the exact opposite of me. Or so it seems. Granted, that doesn't mean he's got a constantly mute/gray aura. Sometimes there will be days when he comes home from work in a particular mood. I can't even really pinpoint the exact emotion, it's just this dark, cloudy, closed off mass encompassing him I guess. I can tell something's off, that something isn't quite right, but I never know the why. I never know if something happened at work that put him in a negative mood or if he's just tired or if he feels achy or what. I'm not a mindreader, I can't figure these things out by myself. But whenever I ask him if everything's okay, I feel like he shuts out, locks the gates, says he's fine even though clearly something is amiss. I'm sure for every other person in the world, they could just accept that their significant other doesn't want to talk about these things and they can just drop it and leave it alone but for me, that's not possible. Alarms go off in my brain telling something is off and making me desperate to get to the bottom of it. As if other people's emotions are this tangled web of organic matter and color that once it's presented to you, you need to untangle it and sort out all of the knots. It leaves me feeling paranoid and cautious. Like walking on eggshells, tiptoeing through a jungle filled with hunter's traps and messy vines. I feel those feelings brew inside of me, those same unresolved emotions emanating from the other person. I pick up on intention when strangers talk to me, whether their compliments are genuine or if they're just trying to satisfy some ulterior motive. Sometimes I wonder if empathy is the foundation for all my other issues: the anxiety, the apparent agoraphobia, the introversion. Introversion seems to be the most likely link. It only makes sense. When you pick up on everyone's emotions all the time, it makes it hard to stand people for too long. Maybe that's why I like to come off as this dark, mysterious figure to strangers (more at school than anywhere else), too. I don't want to let anyone in because I don't want to feel anything. I'm tired of feeling so intensely, and I don't want to deal with picking up on people's emotional cues and body language and sensing their intent and whatnot. I don't want to be open because I don't want to invite that sort of shit inside. I don't like to speak up about things because I feel like I'm overreacting, like my feeling overwhelmed isn't justified because I feel everything so deeply and get sensory overload so quickly. Like I don't have a right to complain because shit like that isn't worth complaining about. It's something I need to get used to, to learn to control. I can't go through the rest of my life so raw and sensitive. I can't possibly live my life to the fullest in panic attacks and mood swings and clenched fists because of my shrewd sense of perception. I need to learn to put up forcefields-- real ones, not facades-- so that I can protect myself from experiencing all the overwhelming sensations around me. And yet the strange thing is that despite being so perceptive of everyone else's feelings, sometimes I quite honestly feel numb to my own. Maybe everyone else's emotions drown out my own or something but a lot of times, I feel emotionally numb and as if I'm just going through the motions. At least when it comes to myself. But when other people are thrown into play, my emotions run wild. I feel everything in everyone else so deeply, and sometimes that hurts. It hurts seeing my mom cry every time she has to say goodbye to me after a visit, or the way she starts to act kooky and mentally displaced on video chats because she doesn't know how to handle her grief over my moving out. It fills me with this dense, deep, blue cloud of emotion that permeates my entire body and makes me feel immensely guilty for things I shouldn't feel sorry for. It's instances like that when the empathy is clear as day, and it's easy to figure out. It makes sense. The less distinguishable factors stem from the anxiety and all the branches of issue that stem from that. Anxiety feels more like an environmental perception than a human one. And if not environmental, then internal. But anxiety is only caused by the other issues that stem from it. It has come to my attention recently, after another unsuccessful trip to the mall, that I might have agoraphobia. Every time I step foot in the mall, I get a massive panic attack. I cling to my boyfriend and hyperventilate and feel unstable and tense. I could say high ceilings play a role in this, because high ceilings always make me uncomfortable, but I feel like that discomfort isn't rooted in anything. It's just tethered there in mid-air, pointless. That would explain enviromental triggers but that doesn't explain why even in areas without high ceilings, the anxiety still can sometimes strike. It's gotten to the point where it's anywhere public, really. Venturing off into the public, on more than one occasion, will fill me with immense dread and panic. But the reason why is so unclear. It doesn't necessarily feel like an empathy issue; it's not like I'm picking up on the emotions of literally every single person in the entire building or if I am, I must not be totally aware of it. There are sometimes certain people who make me feel paranoid, suspicious characters that make me want to run for the hills but then again, it's always more a matter of that they look suspicious to me and I transition into a higher alertness than they feel suspicious. And besides, almost everyone comes off as a suspicious character to me. I've conditioned to myself to trust no one, but I think that's more a result of upbringing than empathy. The one branch of this anxiety thing that I am certain of, however, is the connection between my empathy and my emetophobia. If someone so much as looks like they're going to be sick, my anxiety goes on high alert. I panic. I lose it. My body rejects any and all food I try to eat because I'm certain whatever I swallow is going to just come right back up by extension. Seeing or even hearing anyone get sick sends my empathy soaring and soon, I feel sick, too. Sometimes this is a delayed reaction, though. Sometimes it doesn't bother me as much until I'm laying in bed trying to sleep at night, and my mind is running a mile a minute and thinking back to what I heard and saw, replaying it over and over again and churning my own stomach in response. Other than that, though, the connection between empathy and the other anxiety issues isn't as clear. Granted, I will admit that even the slightest negative tweak in someone's emotions will send me flying off the handle and practically into insanity. If I overhear tidbits of two people in my group talking and there seems to be some sort of problem, my anxiety instantly kicks in. I start fearing the worst, I lose my mind. I frantically pry for explanations, for reassurance that everything is, in fact, okay. This is especially overwhelming in public places, specifically ones I already feel nervous in. As if all my fears of everything bad that could happen are potentially being realized. It's not a fun feeling at all. For so long I've hoped to find a way to numb it all out, whether that be through a specific person or something tangible like a piece of jewelry or a favorite sweater or something stupid and intangible like a mantra or some sort of mental behavioral conditioning. Sometimes when I'm with my dad, I feel safer and calmer but that's just because I know no matter what, he will keep me safe. He makes me feel safe, as he should. But that doesn't always work. When he accompanied me to my college orientation, I was a panicking mess the entire time and whether he was there or not made no difference. I feel like the only thing that really releases me from this sort of thing is cold water and bright sunlight. Some sort of refreshing and blinding stimuli. It's like no matter what, sipping ice water or washing my hands with cold water or stepping outside into the bright sunlight always seems to bring me back to center. Or at least in terms of panic attacks, it does. As for the cool-down on the empathy side, the opposite seems to be true. A dimly lit, warm and cozy environment void of all distraction (both of the human and audio variety) seems to recharge me emotionally and socially. Any silence and isolation, really, seems to do the trick but I guess after spending so many nights locked in my room staying up until 4am when I was living with my parents, I've gotten really accustomed to that kind of environment. I would turn all but my nightstand light off, I've have my fan running on medium, the TV playing on mute in the background just so the place didn't feel quite so secluded. Everything was dark and quiet and peaceful. The perfect formula for recharging. It's so weird the way one form of relief can make things so much worse if used in the opposite situation, though. Like obviously panic means I need cold water and bright lights. Social and emotional exhaustion means I need warmth and darkness. If I try to resort to bright lights and cold water during that social/emotional exhaustion, however, it just makes everything that much worse. It's too much to handle. The stimuli is just too intense. If I try to resort to warmth and darkness during a panic attack, it just makes me that much more anxious. The loneliness makes me feel dissociated, the darkness makes me fear what could be lurking in the shadows, and I already feel warm and clammy so adding even more warmth makes things that much worse. I don't know, I guess it's complicated. But then again, I'm complicated. I'm strange and mysterious and I honestly feel like an enigma. Nothing about me seems to make much sense. I'm a bundle of conflict and rage and I feel far too much, even though I try to act as if the opposite is true. Or maybe I'm just tired and overthinking everything and would be better off backspacing this entire post and climbing into bed. Who the fuck knows anymore, honestly? I sure as hell don't. By tomorrow morning, all of this will probably blow over and I'll wake up and reread all of this thinking to myself what the fuck was I even doing? Wondering why I was so worked up about something so stupid that isn't even going to bother me much come sunrise (probably). I guess I just get very worked up and talkative (or type-ative, in this case) in the heat of the moment and need to purge myself all of all these thoughts lest they fester in my brain and ooze toxic fluids. That's a really great mental image. I don't know, man. Sometimes these things just overwhelm me and I've gotta get them out somehow, and writing everything down is just the easiest format to do that in. Will this all still be an issue once I wake up? Probably not immediately, but it's always been a problem before so I don't see it stopping any time soon. So long as I am forced to socialize and leave my house, these will probably remain issues that I am just going to have to learn to deal with because let's face it: empathy is a chronic curse that we can only learn to manage. I guess that's still a work in progress here.

[yourstruly-aoife-blog]

Open Letter to the Man That Hurt Me

This is the third time that I have had to be transparent and vulnerable to a room full of strangers. It is incredibly difficult for me, please forgive me for the breaks that I take from reading this letter.

How do I start a letter that is meant to fully encompass the impact years of sexual and mental abuse had on me? How am I to effectively paint the picture of the horrors I’ve endured and continue to daily? To begin I read some the journal entries I’ve written during the times I needed an escape.

Three years ago I described my life as “blurry”. I wrote this:

Blurry is a word that I’ve come to identify the most with. My beginning is blurry, my emotions are blurry, my thoughts are blurry. Blurry is my life.

“lacking definition or focus”

Being confused. Scared. Unsure.

Just blah.

I never know where to start, or maybe I do and I just hate saying the words. I hate dishonesty but I can’t stand the truth about my reality. Thats why I don’t mind being blurry. Staying out of focus, undefined.

My blur is a world full of secrets, hurt, terror, anxiety, confusion, struggle, depression, loneliness, anger, and suffocation.

I can’t. I just can’t escape.

I can’t escape the panic attacks, PTSD episodes, detrimental thoughts, overwhelming pain in my heart. Nothing helps it anymore and I’m losing my mind every other second.

I just want it to please stop.

I’m not suicidal, I’ve already taken that journey and thats not one I’ll ever take again. So I almost think this is worse, because I’m miserable, miserable until this ends, but the misery flows in my veins.

I wanna reach out for help but I hate the state of my mental health. I don’t want to admit how awful its been getting. I can’t sleep at night, I only wanna sleep the day away. I get cold sweats. I wanna be alone but need the comfort of being held.

I’m ashamed of myself. I’d trade lives with anyone else, being uncomfortable with who I am as a person because I just feel damaged. And unwanted. Unlovable. Broken. Never good enough.

I hate myself.

I’m losing myself, but not the parts I want to.

My internal pain isn’t satisfied with the external pain. But consuming nonetheless.

Thats what it does. This monster inside my head. it consumes me.

But how do you get rid of the monster when you are the monster?

I want my mom.

I want her to love me and understand me and hold me while I bawl like a baby because I want her, I need her.

Can I take a mental health sick day? Because I need to escape. And leave. And fix my unfixable self.

I wanna lock myself away. I don’t want to open up to anyone else because I don’t want their pity, shame, embarrassment, judgement, uncomfortableness, confusion. I don’t want to put all my problems on their shoulders but I’m begging for someone to take this load off mine.

Help. Please.

I ask the universe, because I can’t believe in a religion that allows the personal torture I go through every day.

I’m fading, disappearing, becoming part of the blur. This is the easiest thing for everyone else, and the hardest thing for myself; just let me be apart of the blur.

I can’t be selfish. Everything I do is for others. I attempted to take my own life for my family. I wanted to sacrifice everything for them. It didn’t work. But if it had.. They would live happily without knowing the demons that hide in our picture perfect world. I wouldn’t live out my destiny of tearing apart my family. Destroying their world for my selfish reasoning of needing a sane mind. I want to take this to the grave but everyday that passes makes it harder and harder to do so, and I have approximately 21 thousand more days to go.

I need a healthy coping mechanism. I have nothing. I am nothing.

Sigh. I hurt. My head is pounding, I’m suffocating, and my eyes sting.

Medication could help all this but the idea of being codependent on pills makes me feel weak. And all I’ve ever wanted to be is invincible.

I think love is a great medication but I’ll never really have that either.

I think I’m going to give Megan a call. Ditching therapy for over a month was an awful idea. But I keep thinking I can handle this all alone.

Victim. I absolutely hate, despise, that word. But in the back of my mind, that antagonizing, hurtful little voice whispers into my subconscious that thats all I’ll ever be. I’m so ashamed and embarrassed by that, I could never let anyone know I feel that way. But thats what causes the headaches. The heartaches. The all-over aches.

I’m scared to be alone and I’m scared to be with people. In crowds. With family. With strangers. With my father.

I had two chances in life to be loved. Almost three. Why can’t I be loved? Whats wrong with me? What have I done wrong? What am I doing wrong? What am I missing? Why am I like this? And why can’t I love myself?

I didn’t even know I had such strong feelings. I don’t want to be this person. I don’t want to be me. I don’t want to live like this anymore, in this blur.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

I wish I could say that three years later I no longer feel these things. I can’t. Things have certainly improved, but I still feel as though I am the monster. I’ve been in and out of therapy- I go for as long as I can before the wave of depression begins to drown me, and I need a break to sit out and breathe. This battle I have to be “normal” is never ending.

What I most struggle with is trying to answer the question “who am I?”

Two years ago, this is what I wrote:

Liar, liar, burning in this hellfire

To me, the easiest thing in the world is to lie; I’m a liar. I’ve been living a lie my whole life, and it comes more naturally to me than breathing. In fact, a good majority of the time breathing is foreign to me and I suffer a temporary memory loss of how to let oxygen flow through my nostrils into my lungs. But my mouth is always capable of effortlessly opening up to let treacherous lies fumble out. I lie to the world around me every second, without feeling guilty, but I can’t escape the guilt I feel for lying to myself.

I’m fine, I’m happy, I’m okay.

Three little lies that consume me.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Another passage from two years ago:

I’m so exhausted from being angry. It wears on me everyday all the anger and hate I have inside me. I can’t stand that I feel like less of a person from things I had no control over. I hate that there is so much screaming inside my head that I can’t even decipher what it is that truly destroys me and tears me apart. I hate that I can’t control it. I can’t control anything thats going on and I hate that. When I was younger I used to leave my house in the middle of the night just to stand in the middle of the road in the middle of no where. I’d sometimes lay down and wonder if a car ever came if I’d get up and move, or just let it hit me. How awful. I wish I could just get over it as I’m sure everyone wants me to do.

………………………………………………………………………………………….

I’ve experienced so much loss I’m not sure what I need to grieve first. By violating me these are the things you’ve taken:

-my innocence as a child -the ability to be trusting -my confidence -a normal childhood -a healthy mind -my self-respect, self-worth and the ability to love myself and -a father

Minus the biological definitions, some define ‘father’ as “a man who exercises paternal care over other persons; paternal protector or provider”. Ironic, the keyword in the definition is ‘protector’. Protect. Verb. To keep safe from harm or injury.

I grew up believing you were my best friend. The different number of ways you manipulated my mind is the reason behind why I struggle to see you as the predator you are. The first time you decided as a thirty something year old man to touch me and violate me as a four year old child is when I was given a life sentence. You continued to attack my mind and body as I grew. As years continued on, the attacks and violations became less frequent, yet more creatively thought out and conveniently disguised to be portrayed as pure.

Unfortunately, or luckily, I can not remember each and everything thing you did to me. My brain has tried to protect me by repressing memories, however with the PTSD I have, things will occasionally slip through the cracks. The first time I remembered you hurting me in the shower I was at a friends house washing my hair. I fell to the floor of the bathtub and vomited continuously. There have been times when a loved one has kissed, hugged, or touched me but all I felt was your hands or lips committing vile crimes to my body. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing or where I am- your crimes effect me daily. I am terrified for the next time I remember something as I continue to heal. I am always fearing the next time I have a panic attack or PTSD episode.

I’d like to talk about my mental health, and how detrimental this all has been. There was a time I attempted to take my own life to protect your secrets. I’ve wanted to die more days than I’ve been happy living. How did you do that to me? How did you take away my light and desire to see each day through? The problem with mental health is it’s not all invisible. I physically am drained each day. I have episodes frequently where I can’t stop shaking, where I vomit the empty contents of my stomach and dry heave until blood vessels pop in my eyes, I go days without sleeping, then days where I can’t do anything but lie helpless in bed. My migraines are so constant I only recognize the sparse times my temples don’t feel like they are about to explode. I have no appetite and won’t eat a solid meal for weeks. I have an anxiety derived disorder where I pick and pull and yank out my own hair to the point where I have a bald spot. I am scared to leave my comfort zones- which are limited to my house and work.

Because of all this it has been an obstacle to accomplish the things I want in life. I was a military police officer for four and a half years and needed to leave the military because I was no longer able to be mentally or physically fit for the requirements needed. I have started and dropped out of school too many times to count, when an education is all I desire so that I might be able to help others like me. I was unable to have a healthy loving relationship for years- I still struggle to maintain a relationship like this, although I am the luckiest girl in the world to have found a man to love me, and show me for the first time what it is like to be respected and cared for. He has shown me how I am supposed to be treated, as opposed to the way I was conditioned to believe.

I don’t believe it is possible to showcase each way I have been effected. I don’t even think I know every way I have been effected. It seems like each day I realize more and more how this has molded me into a person I don’t want to be, I didn’t ask for any of this. I continue to fight this battle until I get what I need… but I’m unsure what victory is truly going to look like. I thought standing here today I would feel as though all my problems and struggles have disappeared. I realize now it is not that simple, or fast acting.

One of the main reasons I decided to air my secret was because I thought of my sister, whom I love and look up to more than anything. I thought of her future children, and how I wouldn’t be able to protect them if she didn’t understand why they couldn’t stay with grandpa.  It hurts me to know that regardless the decision I made- she would be deeply effected as well, and hurt as much as I do. I will never be able to accept that she and my mother had to be a casualty of this war.

I have never been a malevolent person. I did not pursue pressing charges to harm you, hurt you, or punish you. That is not my place. I did it for you to accept responsibility, and the consequences the justice system feels you deserve. You need help, and you should not have an opportunity to force another child to endure what I have.

I’m proud of myself for helping the little girl that couldn’t fight. Now I need to help the woman I am become who she wants to be. My goals are to be an advocate for those who were like me, and terrified to speak the truth. To let go of all the anger and hurt I have. And to find forgiveness for myself.

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New Post has been published on http://healthyfoodandremedies.com/2017/01/24/6-mistakes-make-depressed-panic-attack/

6 Mistakes We Make When Depressed or Having a Panic Attack

“You are today where your thoughts have brought you; you will be tomorrow where your thoughts take you.” ~James Allen

When I was eighteen I went through a very stressful period, which led to the onset of panic attacks. I often remember how in bed one night I was suddenly overwhelmed by a feeling of terror. I’d never experienced such fear before. Sure, I was scared of lots of things, but this new feeling was unique.

The most accurate way I can describe it is a kind of animal-like horror. It seemed to have come from the deepest, darkest recesses of my subconscious mind, caused by primeval, bestial mechanisms.

The feeling was so deep and all encompassing that it was as if nothing else existed, just this fear coursing through my body as I writhed about, sweaty and tense.

The most unfamiliar and therefore terrifying aspect of the fear was that it didn’t have an object: it wasn’t clear what I was actually afraid of. From the very start, it was simply fear—unconnected to any tangible thing.

That night marked the beginning of my period of panic attacks. Over time, depression, anxiety, sleep problems, and general health issues augmented these.

At the age of twenty-four, I started to fight back; with the help of meditation I managed to get over my depression and panic, and now they no longer torment me.

During my struggle I came to realize that I was hindering myself with mistakes I was making, and it was only when I overcame these that I started to make real progress.

I often talk with people who have been or are going through the same kinds of problems, and I notice just how many of them also come up against these mistakes. So what are they?

1. Resisting.

When we feel a bad mood, depression, or panic coming on, our first wish is to get rid of it as quickly as possible, to change the “bad” mood into a “good” one. This is natural; it’s how we’re made. But all too often our attempts just make everything worse.

Resistance forces us to think constantly about our condition, to focus all of our attention on it, to feel bad because it won’t go away, to wait tensely for relief.

The simple truth is that you can’t control everything. Attempting to get your condition “under control” often leads to extra stress and unwanted bad feelings. It’s sometimes best just to let go and cease resistance.

If we relax and let our depression or panic come without trying to control anything, accepting that they’re only temporary feelings which will pass in due course, things become much easier.

2. Feeling bad about feeling bad.

We start to have thoughts such as “I’m going to die or go crazy,” “This’ll never end,” and “I hate that I can’t enjoy life like other people; I feel utterly miserable.”

Our mind starts to add new fears and negative emotions to the depression we already have. And, as I saw for myself, these fears and feelings end up constituting the main part of our condition.

It’s actually your mind, not the depression and panic themselves, which makes each episode so unbearable.

If you don’t believe me, try this experiment: The next time you’re overwhelmed by an attack, try to simply observe it without getting caught up in or assessing it in any way. Just watch it in its pure form, without any thoughts. Try to notice which parts of your body you feel it in and how it comes and goes.

In this way, you’ll remove your mind from the formula of your distress. You’ll notice how much weaker the attacks become when they’re no longer supported by your thought processes. Give it a try, making notes of the results if you like. Would it be true to say that it’s not all as terrifying and dreadful as it seemed at first?

When you stop feeding your depression with fears and thoughts it becomes much easier to shake off.

3. Comparing.

“Everything was so good when I wasn’t depressed! What an amazing time it was, and how awful it is now. Why can’t I go back?!” These are the kinds of things many people think, me included, but such thoughts bring nothing but harm.

If you want to beat depression or panic, you have to stop comparing. Forget that there’s a past and future. What’s happened has happened. Don’t dwell on it, and instead live in the here and now.

Start with what you have, and don’t think about how it all was before. Learning how to live in the present moment will make your depression or panic much more bearable.

4. Asking pointless questions.

Many people spend hours asking themselves all kinds of questions: “When will this end?” “Why me?” and “What have I done to deserve this?”

To make use of a well-known Buddhist parable, these questions are as much use as trying to figure out the source of the arrow which blinded you: it’s just not that important. What you need to know is how to pull the arrow out.

Questions of the “Why me?” ilk just make your condition worse, forcing you as they do to complain and be upset about something that’s already happened. Focus on what will help you get past your depression and don’t bother with questions which don’t serve this purpose.

5. Believing your fears.

We think that because we experience such fear at the idea of going outside, meeting people, or going on the underground, it means that something bad is going to happen. There’s nothing surprising in this, because nature has made fear in order to warn us of danger. We’re made in such a way that we instinctively believe this fear and respond to it.

But our fear hardly ever arises due to a real threat. For example, the fear of losing your mind or suffocating during a panic attack is simply fallacious. Stop believing this fear. Whatever it is you’re afraid of at these times isn’t going to happen.

Fear is nothing more than a feeling, a chemical reaction in your head. If you’re overcome with terror when you go down into the underground, it doesn’t mean that something horrific is laying in wait there. It’s like a malfunctioning fire alarm—just because it’s going off doesn’t mean there’s actually a fire.

So stop listening to your “inner alarm” every time it goes off. Don’t pay it any heed: go out, meet your friends, get on a plane, and let the alarm keep ringing. Nor should you try to “switch it off,” as this doesn’t always work. Just ignore it. In other words, stop taking your fear as something real.

6. Seeking reasons for your depression in the outside world.

This is another mistake I made myself. I thought that my malaise was linked solely to the way my life and work were going. I believed that if I could just change that, I’d be happy.

But then, with meditation, I realized that everything I needed to be happy was inside me, and likewise what was causing me to suffer!

I was so edgy, anxious, feeble, caught up in bad habits, undisciplined, and irresponsible that even if I’d succeeded in changing the external circumstances of my life, the traits that had given rise to my depression would still be there.

In order to get rid of my depression, I had to get rid of the internal reasons that had caused it.

So don’t keep telling yourself, “If I get a new job, everything’ll be smooth sailing,” or “If I get rid of everything I’m scared of, there won’t be anything to be afraid of any more.” Your depression and fears reside inside you, so wherever you are, they will be too, projected onto the outside world.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t strive to improve your life. First of all, though, you need to direct your efforts inwards.

Conclusion: Acting Against What Feels Like Common Sense

Now, when I look at these mistakes and remember making them myself, I can see the one thing that unites them.

The reason we make them is that when depression or panic pounces on us, we start to think and act in the way our instincts and gut feelings tell to us. “Be afraid, run away, resist, danger awaits you everywhere, you’re trapped,” they whisper.

Tuning in to this during a bout of depression aggravates our situation. This is because our mind, emotions, and instincts are strongly conditioned by depression, so listening to them is like listening to the voice of a malicious, invisible demon intent on leading you to ruin.

To free yourself from depression once and for all you have to drop all your notions of common sense; abandoning your sense of reason, you must act against them.

Don’t resist your depression, accept your fears and allow them to simply pass; don’t get caught up in them and don’t believe them; don’t compare your current situation to how it was before—all things that feel illogical when you’re in a state of terror or intense depression.

What I’m advising may seem to be the polar opposite of what your gut encourages you to do. But it’s precisely because people continue to give credence to and obey these feelings that depression is such a widespread complaint. You need to act somewhat paradoxically to get rid of it.

My own experience has convinced me of this. The understanding I reached allowed me to come through my difficult situation and continues to help me cope with challenges I encounter on my journey.