anticlimatic

 “Divide each difficulty into as many parts as is feasible and necessary to resolve it.”

― René Descartes, Discourse on Method

Therapy is over, and the whole thing feels anticlimactic.

For a few it felt like I was holding in a scream 24/7, and things were so intense I assumed the only way things would get better for me is to have some kind of Mom style freakout and get shipped up to Calgary mental health. At the least I thought I would be on some kind of pill diagnosed with something, but none of that has happened. no definitive ending, no real resolution, just the knowledge that the longer i am alive the more mastery of myself i will gain and the better i will feel.

I'm still holding in that scream. It still pokes me a few times a day to remind me just how close those feelings are at all times, threatening to break out and fill me with pure panic. Not any kind of rational panic, blind alien hungry the only way to stop this feeling is to kill myself kind of panic that cant be reasoned with. Something as small as an email from work can put that gut twisting panic back in the driver seat for a few seconds, and it's that closeness that scares me. I have it mostly under control, but it's crafty. It lives in some dark alleyway of my mind, and shades every single thought I think. When i talk about things i love, it tells me nobody cares and i should just shut the fuck up. It doesn't just give you the worst case scenario, it gives you all of the worst possible options and finds a way to blame me for them. It's a constant 24/7 hotline to the bully that is my inner voice, and I worry that the internal bully will be there until the day I die.

i often find myself saying “Nobody has been giving me shit for this but me, but i still feel attacked for saying it”

If you were to starve to death, you might be surprised to learn how long it takes. Without any food, humans usually die in 1-2 months depending on body mass, and the only way that is possible is a form of self cannibalism. By this point, the fat stores are gone, and the body begins to turn to stored protein for energy. This means it needs to break down muscle tissues full of protein, and the muscles break down very quickly. I figured out pretty early to hide the parts of myself that could be made fun of, but I don't think I ever really found out how to turn it off. 

Like a drug that attacks the healthy cells instead of the intruding ones.