Survival is selfish.

My neighbors might think I run a bdsm dungeon, because at times I scream and cry so loud that it sounds like I’m being tortured.

Which, essentially, I am.

I have episodes of depression and anxiety attacks that are so severe. When every fiber in my body is conspiring together to hurt myself.
In the pure desperation to overpower myself, I have no sense of control.

By any means necessary, I have to protect and save myself.
From myself, by myself..
that struggle not many will understand.

I can’t rationalize myself out of it, there is no logic or reason.
There’s only survival.
Calming myself down could actually turn out to be more dangerous.

Every episode asks for its own individual approach. One time, a cigarette might suffice. The next day a walk could ease my nerves. Another moment I will collapse in the weakness of my flesh and dissolve in the saltiness of my tears.

There is no way to prepare or prevent these attacks from happening or coming at me.
There’s no way to know in advance how to deal with that particular anxiety that’s going to infect me next.

Once I’m in it, I’ll fight with all I have to reach through and make it out alive and unharmed.

By any means necessary, I won’t apologize for how. Survival is selfish.

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