Tuesday, November 12, 2013


I desperately, desperately want to get better.  I do.  I'm taking away the worst things from my life and I'm adding in things that I'm positive and passionate about.  I wake up in the morning, excited for the day to come, instead of dreading it.  I turn on my computer with the intention to do some good, necessary work.  I am taking so many steps forward and trying to remain optimistic and positive.  And then the doorbell rings at 10:20 a.m. and I panic completely.  I suppose I didn't panic as badly as I have before.  I didn't hide.  I certainly didn't answer the door.  It sounded like someone tried to open the door after knocking.  I just panicked.

A moment later my phone rang.  It was my mom.  I completely forgot that she was coming by to pick up something that Mikko had forgotten this morning.  It was just my mom.

She walked in and I was already crying.  I just hate being scared in my own house.  I hate being scared everywhere.  I hate having good days shattered by something as silly as forgetting I'm expecting someone.  I hate how far that sets me back.

I want to hope that this day will turn again, but that hope is somewhere stuck in my throat while my panic attack wanes.

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