Things have been.....bearable I suppose.
Up and down, and not particularly smooth, but the pieces have held together, stitched somewhat roughly for a time.
I've got to be more careful, with anything good comes a crash of seven times the magnitude, I've got to be more careful, not let things rise about the mundane and moderately nice.
The panic is tangible, my cheeks are hot, my eyes water, my pulse races and blood roars in my ears. The air is filled with a white static that presses and closes in over my skin, is sucked into my nose and mouth, making me scared to breath above a quick shallow sigh.
I've had the shakes so often lately; trembling hands, wobbly legs, flushed cheeks.
Panic is so demanding. You cannot endure it, wait it out, hope it passes, it consumes you, every second, its behind your eyes, in the base of your throat, an insistent pressure that rises, ever threatening to climax somehow, clamouring for release, except the only release is pain, pain or oblivion and these are dangerous goals.
I scratch because it stalls the shakes and cools the heat of my tears. It makes breathing slowly possible, waking; bearable, but pain is only a shield and I'm terrified of anything that might trigger a more violent climax....
People talk about being pushed over the edge, about standing on the brink of sanity as if it were the sharp edge of a cliff - how far over the edge can you hang before you can't climb back up?
I don't know where I am with the meds, I've been back on the prescribed dose for a few weeks, but the comforting numbness is not present, they do nothing for the panic, and the edges are still too sharp.
I can't think of a way to find relief, I want to run away but....