I Have More Issues Than National Geographic

I have really good days, and I have bad days. And then I have REALLY bad days.

Today started out good, and feels like it's sliding into bad.

I'm reluctant to label whatever it is that I go through, but there are times where the world seems so awful, so dark, so malevolent that I feel anxiety. And I don't mean the butterflies you get before giving a speech (though those are nasty in their own right, no fooling) but deep panic. I remember one time when it hit, i became convinced I couldn't breathe. I thought I was going to die. I knew I was. It was the night before I was flying back to San Francisco from Glasgow, Scotland. I had to be on a 7am flight, which meant an stupidly early wake up. And around 10pm I became convinced I couldn't breathe. The whole thing is mostly a terrified blur to me now. I knew that it was "just a panic attack" and that I wasn't going to die from it. But I couldn't catch my breath. I remember that. The feeling like no matter how I struggled I couldn't breath in deeply.

Sometimes I feel like everyone looks at me, and hates me. Or they're laughing at me. Sometimes I think that everyone is looking at me like I'm the most ridiculous person they've ever met. They laugh behind their eyes. At the worst times I become certain that even people who I know love me, are really laughing behind their faces. It's hard. I try to make everyone happy, make everyone love me. I try so hard to be the best person I can be, so people will like me. And then I become stretched thin, exhausted, and I fail. And then the cycle starts all over again.

My husband, bless his heart, is a very patient man. He's come home to me crying, because I was convinced he was out cheating (top tip: He wasn't, and never has). And on my good days, I know he won't, he wouldn't. On my bad days...

I mean why would anyone love me, right? At least that what goes on in my head. My husband has said that the only person in the world who doesn't like me, is the one that stares at me in the mirror when I brush my teeth. And he might be right.

This is hard for me, writing this. I don't talk about it. I blow it off. I have attacks at work, and just stay in the bathroom until it's over, or if it doesn't pass quickly I will say I have a headache and go home. I used to be on medication, but I don't have health coverage, so... yeah I do what I can.

On a lighter note,(because I'm now uncomfortable and if I don't stop I will soon not have the nerve to post this) I promised I would share the conversation I had with the Husband last night.
I'm not even sure what started this "fight" mind you...

Husband: You're crazy, I hate you (laughing)
Me: No. You love me. You can't help it.
Husband: I do love you. But you're still fucking crazy.
Me: (singing) Yooou loooove me!
Husband: (sighs) I do. I probably need to see a psychologist to figure why I love you... But I do.