I had a panic attack on Friday which wasn’t great, but they never are.

I heard people moving outside of the house. The curtains were drawn. Lights were off and I was sat on the sofa “depression balling” with the dog. The dog helped. I started thinking “What if they get it?” and a million other things. It sent my brain into melt down which = memory blackouts, not being able to talk, passing out and dizzyness. The whole of friday PM and Saturday AM is a mysterous blur of flashing images and non-sensical goings on.

I hate panic attacks. I know they are different for everyone but when you get a proper one, especially after a while, it really messes with your head. Even now when I’m typing this, my back in turned to the room so I feel eyes on me from the window. Watching what I’m doing. Reminding me that I am shit.

ugh

So yes, weekend of recovery. I managed to stay downstairs with D most of the day, passing time playing on the phone, reading D’s assignment for her school. I did manage to look like a total alcho when I went to Asda to collect two bottles of booze from click and collect. Unshaved. Unkemp. No shopping to collect, just two bottles of liquer. That doesnt look like its spelt right. They werent for me. I’m still almost a year sober. Can’t say I dont miss it. Nice bottle of red or a couple of beers at night to take the edge off. It hurts that I can’t.

I found a section of the gym that appears to be where all us fatties goto and exercise. Its so nice because there are no eyes on you and you are all equal. Whereas the cross trainers everyone seems to stare while you work out. All I want to do is cardio in the hopes of shifting enough weight to be able to wear my clothes again, for trousers to fit and to reduce my heavy breathing as that seems to be pissing everyone off as of late. Its turning into a complex. Where I constantly watch and notice the breathing. Is it too loud? is it nasal? fuck me its just breathing why am I getting worked up about it?

The thiefing bastard elf has returned. We all know about the elf and whether he is a demon spawn sent by santa. So why do we keep doing it. Especially to my poor chocolate I needed to eat to be fat. Shame. My turn on Monday. I’ll need to think of something good.

I’ll end with a mystical partnership of hate and love. They can’t stand each other. Yet Bella (cat) feels the dire need to sit near the dog. Luckily she moved a few minutes later before the dog woke up.