My dearest Prince,

You are a vision.
You are sprawled
you are creased
you've untucked
but coming from where I've been
you are comfort
you are warm
you've brought me back here.
And you have no idea,
off in your own dream worlds
sleeping through my chills
as I slip in under with you,
what a vision you are.
Or how much I love you.

Bubbles, Bieber, and Breathe

Endurance

It may be wishful thinking..it may be too much House on MegaVideo, but I got a glimpse of hope last night.

I was in a perfectly good mood yesterday. I was in a perfectly good mood all weekend, actually, despite the Ativan needed at work. It was 9ish, and I text my boyfriend a "good night :)", and I never randomly type smiley faces. Thats how good a mood I was in! Then my stomach spoke up out of nowhere, and the panic followed even faster.

It was weird though! I don't know if you would call it out-of-body, or just insightful, but I could almost pause the attack for a second, to analyze everything. I could see all the ques leading from the IBS to the panic, I could separate and name all my symptoms, and even map out where my mind was trying to escaping to.

Instead of seeing myself on the bathroom floor, that night, with that REMARKABLE flu, my thoughts went to Kristy, the younger sister of a girl friend, who I drove home after work on Thursday night. She'd told me about the daycare she worked at being diagnosed with a Norwalk outbreak a week ago.

I could SEE my brain trying to convince my body that it NEEDED to panic 'because Kristy was really sick and I was in a car with her..I ate a gross leftover samwich for dinner..I didnt take any Imodium yet today..'

Is that a sign of progress? My brain has to work to find better reasons to panic because the original reasons are getting old and no longer work at the snap of a finger. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself..I can be hopeful, but hope doesn't really guarantee the next attack will be as easy to decipher and defuse. Plus, I still took an Ativan the moment it hit me, so me and my diagnostic tendencies don't get all the credit.

Or am I just completely nuts, (I think I've asked that question before..) thinking I can now see an anxious-self and a rational one, bickering every time I overheat?

Answer: Split personalities= definitely nuts.

(And if I want any chance at marrying my boyfriend, I'll never use that psychiatric term again ;) ..)

But being able to step outside myself in that chaotic moment, and realize that the pounding heart rate, flushed face, and jello'y limbs aren't necessary, that's a skill! A skill I never thought I'd need to acquire, but one that is proving far more useful then long-division or understanding the periodic table.

Incase You Ever Wondered What A Lack of Hope Looks Like

Dear Dad, Love Your Daughter on the Bathroom Floor

Hi dad

Are you/the car home tomorrow?

I would like to take it, or get a ride (because I don't know how long I'll be) to the hospital.

I have just decided that I don't want to do this any more. I can't be FINE all day and then rushing for my drugs and rushing for the toilet and then shaking on the floor all of a sudden. And I can not put up with mom telling me how dissapointed she is in me for not going to work w her again. Even though it's true..I am unreliable! I want to start a business in 5 months! I can't be having sobbing fits like a baby every other night.

I know that it's completely lame to compare real life to television, but I started watching House, a doctor show. House is a diagnosis specialist, but even he can't always figure out what exactly is wrong w a patient. When that happens, he and his team make an educated guess and treat the patient accordingly. If the patient doesn't get better they try something else.

I have been in treatment for anxiety for nine months now, and I'm not getting better.

I'm not.

It probably looks like I am..but really I'm just getting better at hiding it. I'm getting better at getting used to it, and enduring it without bothering anyone else in the process.

But that's not fair. I can't keep suffering and just trying to put up with it..and be miserable and in pain every other day if I want to keep a healthy relationship or be successful in the work world.

I am a 24 year old who can't pay rent because she can't work. And I know working sometimes sucks and no one really wants to do it, but I would give anything to feel ok enough to go into work at frigging Mcdonalds every day.

So I want to go and talk to someone. I accepted anxiety as my only diagnosis months ago, because I was utterly exhausted, and so fed up of not having ANY answers. But I can't except it any more. Yes, I panic, but 95% of my attacks are brought on by feeling sick. And I feel sick all the time. And that's not normal.

I just want to go in, and tell them that I need to find someone who will give enough of a shit to help me actually figure out what's wrong. Or else lock me up and commit me, because I just don't think I will survive like this. I just want to move on.

So if you have time, or you don't need the car, that'd be a big help. Mind you after THIS..I probably won't be up very early.

And I will ask Nolan if I have to. I just don't want to. He's very frustrated because he loves me a lot, and wants to be able to make a home with me and start our lives together..but I can't afford a home, and he doesn't deserve a lifetime with someone who still has issues like mine.

(Unfortunately you MADE me, lol so you don't have a choice, sorry.)

Let me know though, thank you xoxo

Progress (hearts)

Single steps at a time

slow and sturdy

enjoy the view

you love me

and I love you.

We have a sidewalk

hot kisses

and honesty

with a bright picture

stretching wide

right out front.

Hold my hand

and stroll with me.

My strides are small

but I’m walking

and I’m walking with you.

And I’ll walk forever,

gladly.

Drug Dealing

As soon as a new bottle of Ativan comes home (tonight it was ordered and delivered, because I was too panicky to drive myself to pick it up), I divvy it up amongst three most important places: my bedside table, the shelf above my toilet, and the teeny Carebear tin that never leaves my purse (or my waitress pouch, at work)!

My bedroom is often a place the panic starts..the bathroom is where I go when the panic gets worse..and I never leave the house without a small supply of just-in-case drugs, or else I panic.

OCD? Perhaps. Well thought out, and well prepared? Duh.

Because I said so

My dear friend Ellen got me THE greatest..possibly never to be topped, Birthday gift for my 24th. Besides the 'MY DYSFUNCTIONS Journal' she introduced me to a saying,

KEEP CALM and CARRY ON

It came in the form of a water canteen thing, which I only ever used once because it made my juice taste metallic, but it sits on my desk. Because I think it's brilliant. There is one official company that makes products baring this quote, but you can find knock offs..and some hilarious spin-offs everywhere.

The true story behind the original, however, is part of the reason I adore it so much.

Wikipedia says, Keep Calm and Carry On was a poster produced by the British government in 1939 during the beginning of World War II, intended to raise the morale of the British public under the threat of impending invasion. It was little known and never used. The poster was third in a series of three. The previous two posters from the series, "Your Courage, Your Cheerfulness, Your Resolution Will Bring Us Victory" (800,000 printed) and "Freedom is in Peril" (400,000 printed) were issued and used across the country for motivational purposes, as the Ministry of Information assumed that the events of the first weeks of the war would demoralize the population. Planning for the posters started in April 1939; by June designs were prepared, and by August 1939, they were on their way to the printers, to be placed up within 24 hours of the outbreak of war. The posters were designed to have a uniform device, be a design associated with the Ministry of Information, and have a unique and recognizable lettering, with a message from the King to his people. In 2000, a copy of the "Keep Calm and Carry On" poster was rediscovered in Barter Books, a second-hand bookshop in Alnwick, Northumberland. Since Crown Copyright expires on artistic works created by the UK government after 50 years, the image is now in the public domain.

I am a absolutely no history buff what so ever, so I know nothing about the King of Britan during the time of World War II, but I like the guy. It may not have been the more popular of the three poster-messages, but its a valiant message that he gave to his people.

And as I was diagnosed with my Panic Disorder, it became a valiant message that a friend gave to me! And now I find myself happily obsessed with, and try to live by, those 5 words. (Or these 4 words lol)

WARNING: un-Godly comments ahead

RE: tonight's attack

BB- Why does God hate us so much?

PG- I have no idea. He is an absolute slut*!

BB- Yea he is! He has sex with angels and when he does, WE HAVE PANIC ATTACKS!

PG- Exactly! Thunder is when God is bowling, and rain is when God is sad, and PANIC is when God is having sex with heavenly angels!



* SLUT is often a word I use when speaking angrily about something, ex. 'Panic attacks are such sluts' or 'Missing the previews at the movies is such a slut', it has nothing to do with sexual promiscuity, nor do I condone people calling actual females sluts, as an insult

No Dreams Are Too Big. But Some Are Dumb

I had THE most idiotic attack tonight.

Id just finished journaling about how my boyfriend has seen me at my worst, and that no matter what, I, and my illness will never be harder to deal with then we already have been. "..Unless dad dies, or I get cancer..or an earthshattering flu again! Those would indeed be set backs, but I think that no matter what, I am going to be strong enough to survive anything, better then I used to be able to!"

Then I have a very cozy nap. And that coziness was interrupted by a dream about me having a baby, and the baby started barfing. And then I started barfing because we had..drumroll please..THE FLU.

I mean, are you effing kidding me?

So I wake up, and before I can stop it, my brain has gone to wild and dark places, and my body has tagged along like a pathetic little puppy.

I AM NOT SICK. I kept telling myself that. I am fine, it's not even FLU SEASON! And even if it was..I would survive it! Dad is home, and I have drugs this time! Back when that last flu/panic cycle/my own personal hell hit, I was inexperienced, and all out of Ativan. I have that under my belt now! And I have drugs! So I shouldn't need to worry. And by worry, I mean shake and choke up, and start boiling inside out.

It was interesting though, even before the drugs kicked in and cleared my head, I was honestly able to decipher the fact that the entire episode was all in my head. I know that all of anxiety starts in your head, but I am often able to justify them with tangible evidence. This time though, I KNEW that it was my head running away with an awful idea planted in my brain by my journaling subconscious.

I think that's a positive thing, something to celebrate. Maybe not balloons and cupcake celebration worthy, but a silent, 'YAY ME' is allowed. I mean, I am getting a better grip on this, if I can draw lines and realize realities while in the midst of something so awful, right?

Me, Myself, and I

A most recent journal excerpt..

"Just breathe Jorja. We're cool, we're at home, we have Clonaz, and if we need to we can call Nolan 36 times until he wakes up! But we're fine! This is really, probably just the box of mini wheats and all that extra fiber you introduced to your bod all of a sudden, sill working it's way through your system. And that's normal, that's what needs to happen, so just hold on. And after this we can go back to sleep since we've already been up 7 hours and cleaned and de-Halloweened the front porch! And after a few hours we will wake up, take our time, have a really long shower, and get ready for the movies! And at the movies we'll have frozen yogurt and squeeze Nolan real tight and hide our eyes during the ridiculous parts! Then Nolan will bring you home, stay to watch the latest Dexter, and spoon you until he needs to go to work. And at that point, we'll brush our teeth, turn Greys on, and make pretty pictures with the new Sharpie set we will pick up on the way to the movies!

See! All is fine.

(Except for the fact that you've been talking yourself this entire page.)"



I don't know why it seems to help so much. I try to take on this calm, intelligent, rational persona, one who doesn't have a Panic Disorder, and then I try to comfort myself.

It's a little nutso, yes. But if I'm home alone, or I don't want to bother someone else's busy day by asking them for company until a particular attack subsides..well, who the heck else am I foing to talk to?! Who else I going to reassure me that I'm not having a heart attack, and that it'll pass!?

My only question though, as a read through the really sloppy, clearly anxious pages in my journals (and I dont do that often, because who really wants to relive THAT), I start to think about The United States of Tara. It is a show in which the mind blowingly brilliant Toni Colett plays a woman who in fact has about...5 personalities! The show is ridiculously entertaining because she honestly plays each character so fully, and their all completely different people..besides the point. Split personalities is what I was getting at!

I in no way forsee myself being diagnosed with a split personality (There was recantly a woman on Oprah with like 51 selves! And Im not saying 51 as an exaggeration!) , BUT! How is it that I can more often then not, split myself into two when Im feeling attacked?

There is my anxious self, my real self..who is sweating and twitchy and on the verge of crying. And then there is this other person who starts talking when she needs to! A motherly type person, reassuring my actual, anxious self that I am going to survive this.

So I'm asking for an opinion (polite ones only think you, I am in no need to be reading "you fuckin nut job", thank you).

Is it simply a healthy coping mechanism, one that worked once, so it continues when necessary? Or should I keep my eyes peeled for another 'other'? Like a psycho killer then comes out only when the motherly me cant settle the anxious me..and that me just chops peoples heads off when they're sleeping and I can't sleep because Im anxious and my motherly self cant calm me!?

lol.

The Clonaz (thank god for Bri!!) (And YES, Bri is a real actual person who is not one of the other MEs) has me dopey, so I'm just going to leave it at that, and hit PUBLISH before I give you readers any more of a desire to have me committed.