Fucking anxiety!

O.K.

It's not a horrible attack, but it is still there. A pit in my chest laying there on top of my diaphragm deep within me.

Mal is so good at talking me through them. I just have to learn to breath on my own. Make my lungs work. Open up my chest and draw the cleansing oxygen into my being. I think I knew to do this, but Mal was the light that reminded me and now gives me the clarity to do it on my own. She was my empowerer.

It was Mal who first noticed that these attacks seem to happen on the weekend. In fact, I can't think of an attack that has ever happened during the week. They happen so less often, and they are not anywhere near as bad as they were last year.

Come to think of it I had plenty of attacks last year that usually ended with me crying and crying.

When I went on paxil back in October of 1999 it all seemed to just go away. I swear those were little pink happy pills for a time. And I really do appreciate the temporary solace that they gave to me back then, but it did not last.

I went off of Paxil last December. I just didn't feel like I needed it any longer, and I still don't. I'm just not at the level of depression that I once was.

But that pit. It's still there residing deep within my chest. Rising up and down with the rhythm of my breath. It takes such concentration to get the void to diminish. To get the pit to recede back to nothingness.

Mmm . . .

This has helped. I do feel better, it's not gone yet, but it definitely has diminished.

Love to you all.