Better.

Not back to normal–unless we’re taking my “normal” as “moments and even minutes of relative calm, liberally interspersed with minutes and even hours of abject terror” and I hope that’s not my fate–but I *am* better, today.

Oh, ye gods, though. The sick upward spiral of nauseating fear, and the silent scream of despair as you start to come back down. I wish I had the words, just so I could talk myself out of being afraid of the sensation itself.

Still. I went to the mall, today, and it was crowded and awful and I still had fun, in between the moments of really NOT having fun. When the kids returned from their weekend at their dad’s, I kissed my son on the top of his head, and he asked me to tie the drawstring on his shorts which was an easy thing I could do to help him, and he made me laugh, some way or other. It is worth noting that he makes me smile every day, possibly more often than any other person on Earth. My daughter spoke to me (she spoke as her imaginary friend, in not-quite her natural voice) and she was playful and funny; and if I’m tempted to complain about her putting on a persona in order to speak, I should remember that there was a time when we never thought she’d speak at all, and now, she speaks in short sentences, responds to my sentences, and makes jokes. Also, she let me cuddle her, briefly.

My husband has made me laugh at least 3 times, today. I’m the sort of person who laughs dozens of times in a day, when I’m at my best… but 2 weeks ago, I was crying dozens of times in a day, and having panic attacks, besides. Nary a laugh to be seen.

Forward progress is being made, and that’s all we have; the hope that things will be a little better tomorrow, or will stay nice for a little while, when they are nice. I shall be 35, before this year is out. I thought I might not make it that far, at earlier points in my life (not to sound melodramatic, but it’s usually best to be honest) and just the realisation that I have, gives me a little hope and a little peace and a little desire to try a little longer.

Good Lord. Reading back that last sentence, I actually sound worse than I thought I was. The “anxiety,” though… that utter, awful, unrelenting terror of nothing and everything that they call “anxiety”. I do wonder if I’ll lose the battle against it, someday. (Again, I’m just being honest.)

But. But but but. I might lose the battle, but I haven’t today. I know it’s a cliché, but there it is: I am happy I’ve made it through one more day, a little calmer overall, and that’s enough, for now.