Diary of A Depressed Author
Exchanging Pleasantries With My Past Self
I keep having breathing attacks rather than anxiety ones. I think that I need to get more fresh air or something like that. They only used to happen every few days or so, but now they're consistent. I can't breathe well at random moments in the day, and it's extremely uncomfortable.
My stomach started hurting randomly. But even though I knew it was just from being a bit sick for a while, I still had another self-inflicted nausea session. I finally calmed down in the kitchen after I felt like I was about to throw up. Having breathing problems while self-inflicting nausea fucking sucks. I should know.
Once my dad asked me why I did that to myself. I told him I didn't know. But in reality, I had known the answer from the moment it started: Because I hate myself. Only someone who feels they have no real purpose or don't belong would cause themself constant suffering for a year like that.
I need to be more careful about these things. Even if they don't happen as often now, I should still remember the events that took place because of it. I still need to acknowledge how much I changed because of it. I still need to know that I went to therapy mainly because of it, in the beginning. Little did I know, however, that those therapy sessions would soon lead to connecting to my anxiety issues.
There are times out in the morning when I'm waiting for the bus that I stare at the sunrise. My hot breath colors the air around me a discerning white. I can't see myself in the crisp weather. There is no ice, no snow. There is just the sun and I, waiting for something that seemingly never comes.
It is that these particular moments that I feel the most alive.