Monday, March 5, 2012


I swear, the scariest place to be is in my mind. I wouldn't ever want anyone to have to be in my mind at the scariest moments.
There have been two times that I have panic attacks because my mind has made up something that I've done.

One was a while ago and reoccured twice. The other happened just over the last weekend. I think I woke up Saturday and felt like this. Yeah, it was Saturday.

1. The first time this happened, I woke up and realized that I had done something horribly wrong in my dream. I knew it has been a dream and that I was awake now and okay, but the utter rawness of being alone in my bed with only my pillows and my mind to distract me allowed me to be competely consumed by what I had done. I had allowed for thousands upon thousands of people to die for a cause. I had not killed them myself but I had relayed or made the order that sentenced them to death, knowing full well, that they were going to die because of what I was going to do. Thousands upon thousands of innocent people died on my watch, and I didn't even do anything about. I didn't even really care tha much. Even when I woke up, I was so scared. I was mortified. I wasn't even mortified; I was more like traumatized. I couldn't grasp the fact that I wouldn't actually do that in real life, I could only comprehend the fact that I had willingly killed thousands upon thousands of people. I couldn't move from my bed and I couldn't get it out of my head that I had killed all these people. I kept asking myself, "How could you do that? Why would you kill all those people?" I was scared of myself, and that's an understatement. I was traumatized by myself. Being scared of oneself could easily be the worst feeling in the world because you can't get away from yourself no matter what you do. I mean, I guess you could kill yourself, but that wouldn't fix the problem because you'd just be dead. If my situation was in a movie, I would have woken up screaming or in a cold sweat. And the sweat and/or screaming wouldn't have stopped for what I bet was about 15 minutes. I'm serious. It felt like an hour or more, but fifteen minutes is a lot anyways. Fifteen minutes is a fricking long time to be laying in bed, trying to shut yourself out by closing your eyes and taking deep breaths. I don't remember how I calmed down. I was scared out of my mind but it was all in my mind. I knew it was all in my mind! And that seemed to scare me even more! I don't really understand what was happening to me. This reoccured, like I said, two more times. And then recently (as in over last weekend recently), I had another panic attack with the same feelings only it was based more towards my religious instead of flat-out, generalized moral beliefs.

I don't want anyone to ever have to feel the way I did. I was tossing and turning and couldn't go back to sleep no matter how hard I tried. I was afraid I would kill more people anyways, so I guess it didn't matter that I didn't go back to sleep for a while. But it DID matter!

I couldn't go to sleep and I couldn't stay awake. I even tried getting up and walking around my room. Oh, how I begged for the sun to come out as soon as possible. The darkness consumed me like my mind. It squeezed itself through and past my eardrums, behind my eyes, and covered my mouth and nose. I couldn't breathe easily.

I heard somewhere recently that when one has a panic attack, the first thing you/your body thinks is that you're dying.
I guess ... I guess that's how I felt during this. That could be a way to explain or describe it. But it wasn't so much that I was dying because of physical pain (but I don't think that's what the person meant anyways). I was more dying because I was going out of my mind.
I'd almost rather die of physical pain, at least you know what's going on.

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