My “new” car broke down Friday. R is fixing it, allegedly, but it’s almost five pm Sunday and I haven’t heard a word. I am livid and in spite of 1.5 mg os Xanax I am still freaking out. My glasses broke (both pairs) and I don’t have a car to go get them fixed so bare with any typos, I can’t see well here. No word from him could mean the car is toast. Or that he got busy doing something else and simply doesn’t care that I am fucking hobbled and going out of my bloody skull with panic here.
I am trying to put on my big girl panties, but ya know, mental illness does not cooperate.
The panic is an entity unto itself, and right now, it is mopping the floor with me.
I am miserable and depressed and antsy and terrified.
My heart is just hammering at my chest.
And I just keep kicking myself, I should have kept the other car. Bashed fender or not, it’s still running and this new pretty piece of shit ain’t. I knew it was a bad decision. Livid is an understatement of how I am feeling. I know shit goes wrong with cars, but I was told this one was sound by the mechanic, ffs, my best friend. And I’ve had it 11 days, and already it’s left me stranded twice. Pardon me for not being impressed and being totally fucking salty.
I keep reminding myself to breathe, calm down, grow up.
It’s not working out.
I’m also off kilter because dad took my kid home with him last night and still hasn’t brought her back. No kid, no car, I am fucking lost and panic is kicking my ass.
It’s hard to explain the vicious panic attacks, but suffice it to say, you cannot possibly find equilibrium in such a state.
Back to waiting.
Whole fucking weekend spent stranded across town locked up inside.
But I’m supposed to be in a good mood.
Time to work on putting on the mask for everyone lest they tell me to get over myself.
If I could,I wouldn’t have mental illnesses, now would I? DUH!