You have friends and family that love you. 

That’s what people say when they have no idea what else to impart when I am in a moment of anxiety and panic. 

And it’s sweet, it makes me smile (if I have the capacity to smile), and it’s truly a lovely sentiment. 

It is not, however, a cure for anxiety. There is no cure. That’s the thing that’s so hard to explain when I am losing my mind, sometimes this shit happens no matter how well-balanced my meds or how awesomely I am coping. Sometimes my brain chemistry goes all pear-shaped and there’s nothing to be done but cope. Mostly, that is done by living through those horrible minutes, not do anything stupid, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, do something smart. For me, and I can only speak for myself, daily panic means I need to see a therapist again. Ugh. I generally hate therapists. 

My problem is that I met the therapist love of my life in San Francisco. He is fantastic. He never spoke down to me, he didn’t give stupid advice, but he called me on my bullshit every time. He was sweet and sassy and clever and almost always right about what I needed to work on; he never hesitated to applaud my little victories, either. 

I’ve never had a therapist so goddamn perfect for me, and I seriously doubt I will find another like him. But I have to mourn that loss and try again. Or else I will keep having anxiety attacks and I will be mentally crippled by my own brain chemistry. I have to be brave and allow myself the possibility that I can find someone new. 

Great God above I am feeling shitty right now. Meds are helping a bit, (just took my anti-anxiety meds) but my good heavens, I feel like the world is caving in around me. I really need/want a gentle evening. I really need to calm the fuck down……I’m really glad the hubby is here, but it’s not enough. My brain chemicals are winning. 

No.

No no no no no no. I refuse to allow them to win. 

Pardon me, loyal reader, I have some fucking DBT excercises to do.