![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
anxiety attack
Apparently my new default reaction, upon being asked to do something that I want to do, is to burst into tears, repeatedly sob "no I can't do this I'm not good enough" and and flee in the hopes of ceasing hyperventilation sometime this year. That felt just awful. I think it wasn't an actual panic attack, because those usually feel like somebody physically reached into my chest cavity and squeezed, but this was a goodly amount of shaking and "do not want" all by itself.
I don't know why I reacted like that. I had a bad morning, emotions-wise; maybe it left me ill-prepared for, let's say, life. Splendid.
Now that the physical fear reaction is pretty well over, I get to cope with the consequences of fleeing in terror. I'm going to owe an explanation to the person who asked me. That should be about as fun as getting dental work. I don't know how to start that: "Sorry to abruptly bail on you, but I have the emotional stability of a needy puppy"—no.
"...but my anxiety flared up and I needed a little while to get myself back under control." Maybe, but I don't think it's ever accurate to describe myself as "under control". "Controlled by my emotions," maybe, but never the other way around.
Fuck. I can't even deal with the fallout of my own inability to deal. I just want to put all the barriers between myself and feeling this way that I can.
What the hell am I doing. If I can't get anywhere with this incessant navel-gazing, then I should at least do it while accomplishing something tangible instead of thinking into a textbox. Then I'll have at least one improvement on a magnificently mishandled day.
I don't know why I reacted like that. I had a bad morning, emotions-wise; maybe it left me ill-prepared for, let's say, life. Splendid.
Now that the physical fear reaction is pretty well over, I get to cope with the consequences of fleeing in terror. I'm going to owe an explanation to the person who asked me. That should be about as fun as getting dental work. I don't know how to start that: "Sorry to abruptly bail on you, but I have the emotional stability of a needy puppy"—no.
"...but my anxiety flared up and I needed a little while to get myself back under control." Maybe, but I don't think it's ever accurate to describe myself as "under control". "Controlled by my emotions," maybe, but never the other way around.
Fuck. I can't even deal with the fallout of my own inability to deal. I just want to put all the barriers between myself and feeling this way that I can.
What the hell am I doing. If I can't get anywhere with this incessant navel-gazing, then I should at least do it while accomplishing something tangible instead of thinking into a textbox. Then I'll have at least one improvement on a magnificently mishandled day.