August 20, 2001
9:30am

It has been a terrible morning so far. This is no way to start the day.

When I woke up the first golden rays of dawn were peeking through the clouds. It was very pretty and I was happy - until I realized that I shouldn't be.

I cried and cried and cried. Then I used up a whole roll of toilet paper. Then I cried some more. There was no one to call because everyone with a real job was at work already. Once again I was afraid to leave my house.

I hate anxiety disorder.

I've always been a shy, timid person but it wasn't so bad because people would leave me alone about it. Now I'm pressured to speak to strangers and initiate conversations, things I have no skill in despite years of practice. Sometimes I feel like I'm about to break and I'd rather face the fires of Hell than speak to another person.

I spent half of last summer hiding from people, crying silently in bathroom stalls, wondering what was wrong with me. Therapy has given me the ability to walk among people and saddled me with a bill I'm unable to pay. I'm mended but not healed, held together but still broken. As much as I (usually) enjoy company, and as lonely as I tend to get, I still prefer to be alone. There are no pretenses, no forcing myself to be happy when I'm not, no feelings of inadequacy and worthlessness because I'm unable to carry a conversation. There's no torment. There's just me.

The thing I hate most about my anxiety disorder is it makes me unable to enjoy anything. I have shelter, food, all the essentials and much more. Yet it only serves as a distraction from my misery. There's nothing wrong with my life; there's something wrong with me. I feel these things are wasted on a person who doesn't deserve them. I feel like if I were just cut out of the picture everything would be perfect.

Outside my window the sun is shining brightly and it looks so inviting. It's mocking me.

I have the distinct feeling it's not going to be a good day.