Saterday, August 21st - 1:20am

In 24 hours, I WILL be on a crowded, sweaty dance floor, laughing and getting hit on by cute boys. In 24 hours, I will NOT be on a cold, lonely hotel bathroom floor, crying and and begging to be taken home.

Sound good to you?

Mmk, deal!

My girlfriend's bachelorette party is in Toronto tomorrow night..well, technically tonight.. and I am going. I am going! (I already paid, so I may as well give it a shot!) It's a big deal! It's a big deal that my friend is getting married and wants one last silly-girl celebration with me, and it's a big deal that I am going.

No daddy, no boyfriend, no mom or baby sister even, out of town and over night. That's a big list of uncomfy. Add in 11 drunk girls, and plenty of drunk boys! Lot's of strangers!

I haven't been on a dance floor since New Year's Eve..I think. Yep! It's been 8 months since I had the balls to spend time in an overcrowded, stuffy, thick-aired, too-loud bar. And it's been perhaps 4 years since I've been in a bar in Toronto!

You know, I used to picture myself as a cool 20-something chick who frequented trendy Toronto clubs. I also used to picture myself married to Zac Hanson, and now he's married to someone else with 3 kids..so!

Anyways!

Getting married involves a great deal of growing up. And growing up is hard! Especially if you have a panic disorder! (ESPECIALLY if you have cancer, or one less limb, or you're blind! I realize I shouldn't complain.) You have to be brave to commit to one other person for the rest of your life, and get ready to live together, and pay bills together, and make pretty babies together. That's a huge deal. To me, though, a huge deal is packing to spend the night in a fancy hotel with all my cute girlfriends, in a sexy dress. Grossly pathetic!

None the less.

heating pad - CHECK

extra wash cloth - CHECK

journal - CHECK

drugs - CHECK

tummy pillow - CHECK

Snapple - CHECK

laptop with Greys DVD - CHECK

toothbrush, change of undies, black heels, and all that other crap - YEP

I have one friend coming who isn't a drinker, and she doesn't love sleeping in beds other then her own either, so if worse comes to worst, she can drive me home at 3 am! If the drugs don't settle, and the washcloth isn't cool enough, writing isn't distracting enough, sitting on the toilet isn't relieving enough.. I can go home to by own bed and my own bathroom, and my own daddy. So, nooooooo worries! PLUS! The bride-to-be has anxiety too, so there will be plenty of Ativan to go around!

Except I'm worried!

It can't get much worse then the cottage bathroom floor, and I survived that. And I can survive this! I WILL survive this! This is an opportunity. My friend has stepped up to the plate, and she's taking the opportunity to spend the rest of her life with the boy she loves, so I can take the opportunity to prove to everyone..prove to myself that I can do this, I can win this battle even in a bed that's not mine, or a bathroom that I'm not used to laying in.

OR! I can dance 5lbs off and take fantastic pictures with my girlfriends while winning silly dares, and then wake up calm after a decent, uninterrupted sleep in a big, clean hotel bed. Either or!

(Ps. Second post without Princess Georgia..she's proly getting lonely..sorry!)

Sometimes An Open Mind Tastes GROSS

A girlfriend/ fellow anxiety-sufferer gave me the name of a magic potion/ herbal tea that is infused with Valetrian (Nature's Valium), which intrigued me! Months after finally getting a diagnosis, but still greatly suffering, you should be open to all treatment options!

So I bought the tea! It's called Mother's Little Helper, from David's Tea in the mall, and it also has Passion Flower and Mint..and..stuff.

I steeped it with fresh peaches, and added plenty of sugar, and then I iced it! Sound snazzy? I knowww!

Unfortunately is tastes like ASS! :)

I am NOT a tea person! What was I thinking? Luckily I was skeptic after sticking my nose in the canister at the store, and only bought a $3 bag. I've been trying to choke it back, but there is a fairly high chance that the jug will make a first class trip down the kitchen sink.

I just can;t do it! Even though I know its good for me..I mean HOW is it supposed to help my anxiety if it makes my stomach feel disgusting, and a disgusting stomach makes me anxious? Hmm? It's like when I had that hellish flu, and all the doctor could do for me was suggest this Pedia-lite-like stuff that's a powder you mix with water to rehydrate you. And I was shaking, I was so dehydrated, but this FRUIT PUNCH stuff tasted like rotten celery and DOG CRAP! If the taste makes me want to hurl, how am I supposed to drink it in order to repair the damage that hurling caused!?

I'm a drug person. That's all. To me, a prescription written by a doctor and made in a scientific lab, is comforting. It's tested and proven effective, and prescribed all over the world, not picked out of a backyard and smooshed together in a rock bowl, or a witch's cauldron. lol Yes, thats stereotyping, and wrongfully asuming. I mean, why drink this shit when I can just stick a pill under my tongue?

Ok, sure, Valerian doesn't have highly addictive properties. I get that. Blah, blah!

And at one point I was HUGELY excited about finding RescueRemedy, an all natural nervous system calmer, that Sandra Bullock SWEARS by. However, while it has no actual alcohol content, it's brewed in bourbon or whiskey or something and tastes a horrible deal like it..so it isn't going to help if I first have to be reminded of drinking, which reminds of puking and being hungover, which reminds me of major panic.

I'm just a drug person! Not the homeopath sort. I only have magical healing crystals next to my bed, because I don't have to taste them :)

Night Terrors/ Setbacks

He did it again.

Not only did he make it passed the alligator infested moat that surrounds the castle, he snuck by her mother, and the knights that King sent to guard her door. And if that weren't impressive enough, Princess Georgia wasn't even staying in HER room. She was visiting her favorite uncle's castle, and her uncle was the biggest, most feared knight of all!

But he found her.

And he attacked.

It's almost like being raped. Like once again you are that stupid, drunk 19 year old who passes out after a night of partying, and wakes up with someone else's hands down your pants.

You didn't have permission to enter this house. You definitely didn't have permission to enter this bedroom, but you do anyways. Because you are a sneaky, slimy, disobedient coward of a monster.

Princess Georgia concludes that something awful must have happened to the monster. Something bad enough, to make him desperate enough, to attack her when she is her most defenseless!

Bed, my own bed, has always been my favorite place to be, in the whole entire world, (except maybe Mickey Mouse's Magic Kingdom..) and I have always considered a very sacred place. The first time I was taken advantage of, I was devastated. But it wasn't just that I'd been violated, or had my heart broken, or was made out to be a complete fool..it was that it all took place in my own room, in my own bed.

I spent the next week and a half sleeping on the couch, in the living room around the corner. He hurt me, hurt my feelings and my reputation, and he made me scared of my own bed. (Bastard.)

I have always maintained that sleeping with someone is far more intimate then SLEEPING with someone. Sex is a choice, it's full of many choices (more often then not). You can choose stop or go, top or bottom, fast or slow-it-down-I'm-just-getting-over-my-period! lol

Sleeping however, is no choice. It is you, submitting to one of Life's decisions for you. We think we control sleep, because we choose when to put or pjs on, we choose to brush our teeth or not, we choose to put zit cream on, and we choose when we fluff our pillows and get into bed. When we slip into sleep though, not up to us at all. Not even if we choose to do yoga or watch TV or pop some sleep-aid.

It just happens, when it needs to happen. I've learned two things about me and sleep: I do it much better with someone, and I actually don't NEED it as often as you'd think.

Sleeping better with someone in bed with me, is likely a problem, but I can't just deny it. It has gotten me in trouble, the desire..desperation to find someone to just spend a few hours in the dark, in a bed, dreaming next to each other. It's a problem because you're never more vulnerable then when you are asleep. You're never more exposed to all the awful that exists.

I'm a restless sleeper, but when someone is occupying half the sleep space, my body is embarrassed into keeping drowsy movements to a minimum! Plus I think I've never stopped fearing the dark, and I feel safer to fall asleep finally, and let my guard down, when I'm not alone. Thing is, you need to pick your company VERY carefully. And even when you do, even when you've learned from your mistakes and only let the most honestly secure boy in your bed, even then you're not guaranteed to be left alone by things that go bump in the night.

The week before I entered the Panic and Anxiety rehab program, I didn't sleep. No, like for an entire week, I didn't sleep! I'd learned the hard way that the worst panic attacks happen just when I start to dream, and I think I'm in the clear, so I did everything I could to stay awake! I learned that I could survive 168 hours in a row without getting any real rest! It wasn't FUN though, I wasn't full of RedBull cramming for an exam, or in the middle of some drunken party binge. I was deliriously tired, to the point where my body just shut down and I couldn't move, and the sensible side of my brain shut down and I was hallucinating. That Week, I was taking upwards of 10 Gravols a day (utterly desperate to subside a chronic stomach ache), and I wasn't eating, I wasn't moving..I was turning into MUSH, and I STILL wasn't sleeping. I was THAT scared of waking up in the midst of an attack.

That was...maybe 3.5 months ago though, and I've been through a mental illness program, I've gone days in a row without even one Gravol, and I have enjoyed (and greatly appreciated) normal, deep and sweaty sleeps! I thought I was passed finding myself afraid to sleep. But then I'm in a comfy bed, after a beautiful afternoon visiting with my Gramparents, and my mom is literally 2 feet away, and I find myself having to sit up immediately, waking up not even 2 hours after getting to bed, grabbing for my phone and my pillow and my wallet (which is home to emergency drugs) and running to a bathroom floor that isn't mine.

And then a cycle starts: being scared of being sick makes me sick, and being sick makes me scared to be sick. It took months to get to a place where I could work entire weeks in a row without having to call in sick, go out with my boyfriend, and go out of town without being terrified, and hesitant, thinking about the possibility of an out-of-nowhere attack. And months feel like MONTHS to a panic sufferer.

So now I'm back to sitting up in bed watching Greys over and over, doodling and reading, and browsing PerezHilton.com until I'm so tired I have no chance to over-think and no choice but to pass out.

Princess Georgia sits in her canopied bed putting on puppet shows for her stuffed animals, staring out her bay window at all the midnight creatures dancing around her garden, and sneaking into the castle's chef's secret stash of cakes, until her big brown eyes are so heavy, she forgets all about the Anxiety Monster, and she drifts into dreams.

And even then the welcomed unconsciousness only lasts an hour or two.

But like I said, the Princess and I have become experts at functioning on very little. And that's all the glass-half-full I can muster right now ;)

Aug 5th 2010, 5:25pm - bathroom stall

Panic survival 101:

Sarcasm is KEY to overcoming the absolute SHAKES in a public washroom.

Maybe sarcasm isn't the right word.

What do you call it when you make fun of yourself?

(I can hear my boyfriend now, 'You have an iPhone! Look it up! That's what an iPhone is for!')

...

The first page of results when Googling 'making fun of yourself' have no conclusive terms. Having a good sense of humor, basically. Or sarcasm?

Whatever! I just wasted approximately 7 minutes of time..and you read about it, so who's the idiot now?! :)

I've been sitting in this bathroom stall for maybe 40 minutes now (who really knows, because panic makes time move slower then..the slowest thing on earth! I could to back to work now and they'd probably admit to not even noticing I was gone.) sending LOL texts to everyone I normally text while stuck in the bahroom. And we have concluded the following, slightly amusing, things..

1. Even a Chatelaine cover girl can't pull off the toilet-ring-around-the-butt look. Even Jessica Alba would look like a loser with a big red circle coming out front under her shorts, so I don't feel bad!! However, luckily..

2. Being a panic sufferer makes you a superb packer for all occasions! I brought an extra pair of pants! I brought them incase it got too cool while working tonight..but it works for this situation as well. I'm smart without even realizing! It also helps to be working with your mother, who can kindly deliver your extra pair of pants to the ladies room when you realize you're going to need them.

(I am now realizing that if someone took notice of me entering the bathroom, is noticing I've been in here long enough to write a blog, and then notices I've changed my bottoms, clearly the first assumption would be that I shit my pants. It doesn't help my defense case, that a janitor came in a few minutes ago too..

THAT! THAT is sarcasm, no?

Continuing..

3. I am a truly resourceful panic'er.

The imbeciles that designed this snazzy Toronto Convention Center washroom decided to forgo individual taps, and so only hot water comes out. Hot water is not what I need for my just-incase washcloth, always folded into my purse! Didn't they KNOW hot water wasn't going to help calm the person who was bound to have a panic attack in their establishment..years down the road?!

I however recalled a frozen water bottle I'd packed in my lunch bag! Yes, a red-headed lady looked at me funny when I unpacked and poured it all over my lime green cloth..but panic'ers do, what panic'ers must do! So PISS OFF, lady!

Ever wonder, 'is there someone out there, far far away maybe, doing the exact same thing that I'm doing right now?' I always think that when I'm laying in the park, or on my back deck staring at the stars. That's a romantic thought. 'I wonder if someone out there, far far away maybe, sitting in a public bathroom stall, blogging about panicking while sitting on the toilet..' is not such a romantic thought. But I wonder it anyways!