There’s a tight, sick feeling when I know I’m going to panic and cry. Sometimes the tears come and then go on and off but there’s an element of control. Sometimes they come suddenly as a surprise and are overwhelming. And sometimes, like today, I know they are coming. I know there is nothing to do to stop them but I’m trying to put them off as long as possible, trying every distraction technique I have. I’ve made it to the evening. When they come it will be overwhelming. It will be waking up tomorrow with sore eyes, a heavy head and a sick feeling that will still be hours from fading. The aftermath is as long, and generally even longer, than the attack itself. Both are equally as tiring.
This is when I wish I had someone to talk to, whether as a distraction or as someone to sit with. It’s tempting to contact someone but I won’t. It isn’t fair.