This time last year, I was getting ready to go to Tulsa for a checkup. The checkup led to probably one of the worst panic attacks I've had in a long time. It was so absolutely bad that I ended up with hives. People act like our emotions can't mess with us that much, but when they start doing physical damage, you know something's up.
Mainly for that reason, it makes me very happy to know I don't really have to do anything tomorrow. I have to deal with an eye exam on Friday, but Thursday will be quiet and peaceful. I need it to be.
The hellish thing about the whole panic attack/hives thing was that it lingered. Even though I knew that rationally the skin condition was just an after effect of the attack, I still got really paranoid about it. I wondered if I had some kind of deadly skin condition that would kill me and infect others. Until the bumps started to go down, I worried that this was some new level to the weird hell I'd been in since January.
A while back, I told my roommate that I didn't feel I had the right to call myself a cancer survivor. It was more like I was a cancer 'avoider' because they caught it early and I didn't have to go through chemo. The thing is, I'm starting to realize I was minimizing my situation. I almost bled to death. I was basically bedridden for weeks. I had all of my reproductive organs removed. I have physical scars that will never leave me and emotional scars that keep finding new ways to mess with me. I survived one scary ass ordeal and I'm not the same person I was. I never will be again.
So tomorrow I'm going to try and focus on some positive things and just chill. That seems like a good use of my spoons.
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