From a notebook, 8 April 2006, Kilkenny Ireland
My fear and stress in social situations can be so severe that I don't know what to do. A bail for escape seems sometimes an option. Go out, leave the room.
Sometimes in a car, for example I have nowhere to go.
A foggy numbing buzz came over me yesterday coming back from Urlingford.
I want physical affection. My body needs to be loved. I need to touch.
Boy, I'll tell ya, panic is not depression.
Depression has its charms; it can be melancholic, beautiful in its way; poetic, even.
Panic is abject. Panic, angular, sharp, overlording.
The hazy foggy buzz of panic, the disembodied numbness, the irrational fear that propagates itself. A fear, and then its own fear of itself.
I don't know where it comes from. I do recognize a few general triggers. Kim was associated with the first one. Maybe her friendship is that important to me.
Enough crying, and the fear goes away. But I know it will be back.
Stress in the morning is a trigger.
The way I let people treat me creates a trigger.
Walking amongst Irish women is a trigger. Anger, certainly, is a trigger. Self-righteous rage in other words, self-replicating anger is definitely a trigger.
Strong feelings. Uncertainty how to apply them live with them express them.