Fiction. Fiction, is my life preserver. The minute I allow my head to get lost within a storyline is the moment when I can cease to exist. At least for a little while.

This morning, I couldn't sleep. I gratefully sought refuge within the depths of my DVR, then greedily soaked in the plots of Thursday night's television lineup.

First I sang along to Glee, next up I was swooning over Vampires, followed closely by Reign, and ended with the most realistic family portrayal I've ever seen in Parenthood.

I'm indebted to these television shows, and many others. If only they knew!!

I can't wait for other people to rely on my characters and story-lines just as heavily. How amazing would that be to have that type of impact? That would be a very good thing to focus on right now. I could change lives with my stories. I've never really thought about that before...

MY life has been changed by stories, why wouldn't my stories be able to do the same? It's incredible to think about.

The only thing I've been able to do lately when the world starts spinning is to just whisper "just breathe" to myself as many times as possible so I can calm down. It doesn't have the same effect on me that it did when other people would say it. How could it?

Sleep aids and anti-depressants, and I still can't breathe. I can't wait for something to change. Something really has to change.

I'd be dead right now if it weren't for the doggies. Dodger is my little human child, and his hugs and kisses keep me going. He recognizes things aren't right, so he loves me even harder. If that dog weren't around, I don't know what I would do. Combined with Mele, the entertaining talker, those two precious canines could save the world, I'm sure of it. I miss my little wiggle bug, my bizzy bells. She was my first girl, and I will never not miss her.

I feel like my heart is going to beat itself to death at any given moment. I can be perfectly fine and then bombarded with thoughts, memories, and emotions. I clutch at my chest and say "breathe, just breathe," but it's nearly impossible. There has been too much that has happened over the last six years. Far too much to be able to handle with just a breath.

When emotional pain transitions into physical pain, that's when you know you're in real trouble. That's when you realize that the road you're on is a long and painful one, with no end in sight. My body hurts like it never has before, and I can't relax. Every muscle feels like it's stretched to the point of breaking, because they're all trying just to hold me together.

I look in the mirror these days, and I see a ghost. My eyes are dark and hollow and my face is thin and pale. I look like I'm dying. I suppose that makes sense, because I feel like I'm dying. I thought I had dealt with everything, and that I was going to be okay. If only I had realized that I hadn't dealt with ANYTHING. I could have avoided so many things if I had only realized that.

I try to imagine what my Mom would say to me right now if she were here. The more time that passes, the fainter her voice grows in my head. Sometimes I can't remember what it sounded like. I'm thankful I have videos to look back on.

I need to focus on what I'm thankful for. I was advised to always look for the good, and make lists of what I'm grateful for. I'm trying to get my brain there, but all I can see-- each and every day, is what I've lost. I can't lose anymore, so I suppose the sooner I can recognize and hold onto what I have, the better.

This is the beginning of a rough journey, and I just hope I make it through it alive.

Things haven't calmed down yet. I went to go see someone for the first time regarding my panic and anxiety attacks. I didn't realize just how debilitating they've been throughout the last five years. I always thought it was just something I had to deal with, things I had to feel. I didn't think there was an option of escape. The sleepless nights and over analyzing of everything in my life was completely uneccessary

I cringe when I think of the unreasonable reactions I've had that have tied into these anxiety episodes. Whenever things got really, really bad, Conrad was there. Sometimes the really bad things had to do with Conrad, but I'm still insistent over the fact that he has magical arms.

There was one time when I hadn't cried in so long after Mom died, and I knew I had to. The A Capella group who had sang to Mom on her death bed had sent me a recording of the song they had performed. Conrad had me wait for him to listen to it. I fell apart in his arms. That happened several times with night terrors and panic attacks. I'm sure I drove him crazy. I had no idea how I would react to everything. We drove each other a bit crazy, but we were happy nevertheless. We were in love.

I resisted needing him as much as possible, because his friends already referred to me as the crazy girl who kept having "episodes". I didn't want Conrad to think of me that way, so I did my best to remain independent and get through it on my own. I kept that attitude and have never asked for help from anyone else since. I closed up like a clam and never talked about anything real. As long as I didn't think about it, it wasn't there.

Then everything imploded. I had opened myself up for it, I had torn down the last wall, and it all came crashing in like a flood. I didn't have time to take a breath of air before I went under.

I ended up having my first ever psych evaluation. She asked a lot of bland questions about drugs, alcohol, and family history. She asked about Conrad, and I couldn't speak. The tears just wouldn't stop. She ended up prescribing me Prozac and Trazedone. (a sleep aid, as I hadn't slept in days.)

The Prozac takes several weeks to make a difference, I'm told... so I'm just waiting. She also told me it would make me feel antsy. So that on TOP of the anxiety it is nearly impossible. I can't sit still, sleep, or stop my brain from torturing me.

I've been carrying around a notebook, because for as long as I can remember writing has been my most favorite and effective form of therapy. I wish it were working better! I just keep drafting letter after letter, because I used to believe I could fix everything with a letter. It's making the panic worse.

I can't imagine my life without Conrad... he's my best friend. We do everything together. The problem is that he found someone else. He doesn't know who he wants more at this point, but I can't foresee winning this fight. I want to fight for him, I want to show him that I'm what he needs and what he wants, but I don't know how. I feel like the urgency to fight is making everything worse. I can't lose him... 

I don't know if the writing is helping, but I don't know what else to do.

Help me.

Over the last ten years this blog has served many purposes. It has been a friend when there weren't any people around, it has been a destination when I badly needed a reprieve. It has been a place to sit and rest and decompress as I think of everything that bombards me on a daily basis. One thing that I have come to realize, the longer I've kept this blog, the longer it has become a place of sorrow. I'm more likely to write here when my world is falling apart then when it is going well.

It's amazing to me how easily words flow when you can't even control the thoughts going through your head. When you're even tempered and happy words become a struggle. You can't vent and write freely. The words are much more forced and contrite.

It makes sense then, that here today... months after my last entry, I am once again seeking solace on these virtual pages.

There have been exactly three times that I have been this low, this depleted. This lost. The first time was when my Mom's cancer came back, and her second kidney was removed. That also happened to be when I started dating Andi. I will never forget the details of that relationship, and everything that happened in and around it. It was a nightmare.

The second time was after my Mom's death. I was living alone and barely surviving. Conrad became my anchor and my lifeline, as well as my torture. We didn't know how to love each other, and we hurt each other over and over again. Our roller coaster ride was never ending, but we clung to each other through every dip and turn regardless. Looking back, I don't know how anyone could have loved me. Sometimes I think I forced him into it, just so I could feel it. I needed to feel it. I needed to feel him.

During that second low point, my family was in a complete state of disarray. It was Conrad who was there, and I've tried my best to downplay and minimize it, because no one should need someone else that much.

This third time, I have my Dad and Sunnie, and they are standing beside me instead of against me, and I am so grateful. It's been a tumultuous five years, and as much as I would like to say I'm healthier and stronger now after everything, I think I am weaker than I've ever been. I hope and pray that it changes.

Last week my entire world imploded. I had carefully built up a structure of fragile coping, that was masquerading as happiness. I was barely hanging on, and EVERYTHING caught up with me all at once.

I ended up in emergency counseling for hours and now am seeking psychiatric care. I'm going to be on meds soon, and I think everything is going to change-- for the better.

There are things I can't let go of. People I can't let go of. Love I can't let go of. I am really at a very low point and don't really know what to do at this point. I don't have a single clue.