For the last couple years I have been suffering terribly.  In my teens and early 20s I struggled with depression, but managed to mostly control it or overcome it or ignore it. Now, 15 years later, my psychiatric diagnosis is PTSD. A while back I was pulled out of my car at gun point, forced to the ground, threatened and robbed. It was scary, but it wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to me, I wasn’t hurt, I didn’t lose much more than a few hundred dollars and my phone.  The guys who did it where eventually caught committing other crimes and are now in prison.

I didn’t exactly put this out of my mind, but I did my best to move on.  I have since descended into extreme anxiety.  A series of events after the robbery (some caused by, some unrelated) have pushed me down into increasing, continuous panic so much that I’m in actual physical pain from it.  Last week I sought help.  After weeks of psyching (heh) myself up to call a mental health clinic, I finally broke through and did it. Turns out they don’t take my (good) insurance and I can’t afford the regular rates.  Not sure what else to do I called my regular doctor.  She helped set me up to get treatment (both medication and therapy) and agreed to meet with me regularly initially (since I know her and trust her and I have to go out and meet and call a bunch of new people which has become practically impossible for me because of the anxiety).

Here I am going to try and chronicle how I am.  I have always been better at writing down my feelings than talking about them.  I have always been terrible at fitting the pieces of my life together and seeing patterns.  I know I need to be in therapy and talking to someone, but I’m hoping that journalling this daily will help with that too. Or at least telling myself the story of what I happened, who I was, who I am and who I will become.

I started taking Zoloft.  I have been taking Klonopin, periodically, to stave off panic attacks.  I was uncomfortable with it at first, worried I’d feel high or sedated or something, but no, it just makes me feel calm, better able to deal with things like large groups of people (like, oh say, my boyfriend’s family at the holidays).

Because my audience right now is me, I’m not going to try and lay out the back story and the dramatis personæ in my life.  It will perhaps unfold as worry out my own problems.

I know I was once strong, beautiful, creative and a force to be reckoned with. In 2011 I am going to find my way back to being that person.  I am tired of crying.  I am tired of being scared.  I am tired of feeling like my loneliness is whittling away my personality until I am no longer even interesting to myself.