Why, exactly…

…do I feel like shit for using a medication in the way it was intended?

So, I’m an anxious mess, on top of being depressed. I’ve talked about that before. And it gets bad. Curled up on the floor, not even the most empathetic cat in the world can help me bad. Shaking is low-level for me. Full on? We’re looking at dry heaves and fainting, which, according to a lot of things I’ve read about panic attacks, shouldn’t even be possible.

So, yeah, it shouldn’t be a surprise that, most times, even on not-so-down days, I avoid leaving the house, because having a full-on panic attack out there is terrible. Humiliating. Just plain bad.

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I am not qualified to own a home.

I ran out of soda today. 

That’s not what disqualifies me — it’s just the starting point of the most recent crisis.  A crisis that most of you would be able to handle in a calm and rational manner, and really would be more of a minor annoyance.

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I’m going to be an impressively self-involved aunt.

I hardly need to actually write a post, since I just gave everything away in the title, and I’ve already explained how I’m basically a supermassive black hole of self-involvement. But, well, I’m going to anyway. I got permission, and I haven’t written anything in a while.
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