I’m still me.
Just because I found out what on earth has been going on doesn’t mean anything became different.
So weird. I expected to wake up feeling… new. Better. Worse.
But unlike PPD or immediate PTSD, this is something I’ve lived with, well, my entire life I guess. My whole family struggles with anxiety, and the therapist says it’s a gene.
And of course, I’ve got it. It’s become more prevalent these past few months since I haven’t dealt with anything.
As for the PTSD, that’s accumulated over the years.
But I’m still me. I still have good days and rough ones, just now I know more why the rough ones happen. I understand that when I almost lose myself while wrapped up in a thought that spirals out of control until I’m so angry, terrified, or can’t hardly breathe – that it’s a panic attack. Not just me being a massive freak. Well, yes that too, but also panic attack. :p
I also know those are the times I pick fights with Sam. Every time. With him gone these past few days and no way to contact him I’ve had to learn how to control the way I feel a lot more. And how else to diffuse the bomb I’ve set off inside my mind.
I cook. I turn on music. I pray. Hard. I take deep breaths. I get on my Tony Little Gazelle and air walk my buns off.
Gosh I love that thing.
Nothing is really different with me. I take Bella out, we do crafts, head over to friends homes. I laugh and cry over reruns of The Biggest Loser (I don’t like Anna in place of Jillian). It’s just now, I have a name to put on my feelings. My fears. It’s easier to handle because I can start to pull myself out of it (slowly) and work on getting past the anxiety.
So this wasn’t sudden. I didn’t wake up a mess one day, I began to put the warning signs together until one day I thought, “This isn’t normal anymore.” And then got help.
So aren’t you lucky – you still get to read about the same old Diana.
I guess this blog was aptly named after all.