I hate to be that codependent, but I could not make the next move without you.

For these last few weeks I have been a nervous wreck.

If I am not sleeping all day for days, I am hardly sleeping at all.

My meds are not putting me out anymore. Sometimes it is hard to tell if I even took them. It makes me wonder if I should even bother. Where I should be feeling that warm reassuring falling buzz, I feel nothing.

The first night this started, I shot up in bed, heart pounding.

No, this can not be happening.

I am Jack's Medicated Panic Attack

It is the strangest thing to feel your heart pounding when you have not had any adrenaline in your system for months. It feels like a trapped animal slamming itself against your chest, trying to break through and escape. The same exact way you want to tear out of your skin that very moment.

Mentally and physically you are coming apart.

Running and running but not getting away.

Then breaking down.

There is no escaping this.

That is the worst part.

This is really happening.

The only thing that calmed me down was remembering that nothing has happened. Yet.

This was not the last panic attack I had while on meds.

This was only the beginning. Things got worse. Much worse.

Almost every night I was having panic attacks, shooting up in bed, sleeping with my eyes open. I have not slept with my eyes open since I lived at the Old Antagonist's house.

Some days I was so exhausted I slept all day. Until I had another rough night. And the cycle began all over again.

Some days I stayed in bed, because I could not get up. Even if I sort of wanted to, somehow I couldn't. I felt like if I stayed in bed, nothing could happen. So I hid.

I laid in bed, feeling the deepening hollows between my ribs. Feeling sorry for myself. Overwhelmed. Nothing at all. Fading in and out of sleep. Fighting my way out of one unsettling dream after another. Dreaming the occasional action movie, Jack Completely Loses It And Goes Postal. On Himself. Strangely I really like those dreams.

I was completely consumed. Lost. Helpless.

There really wasn't anyone I could talk to.

My therapist was out of town. My old roomate left shortly after.

There are so few people I trust with this.

I was not even going to tell my old roomate.

That night, we went out for coffee. And as hard as I tried, I could not act like nothing was wrong. She could see something was eating me. My eyes were veneered over with that sad occupied nervousness. Still, she did not pry. She let me say it.

She suggested we take our coffee to my car and talk in the parking lot, where it was more private.

And then like in some movie, it came out.

She hardly knew what to say. She almost cried and hugged me. I felt too tired to feel much, except relief that I was not as alone with this. And a slight recoil of paranoia, wondering how much I could really trust her. Would she turn on me? Would she talk?

She agreed with my therapist. But just the same, how did I know she would not start to sympathize with the other side more? Go into saving angel mode against me.

I feel bad enough.

I don't need to lose any more friends.

I guess that is what is nice about my therapist. As friendly as she is, she is not my friend. I pay her. I am pretty sure she is not going anywhere. And what happens in her office, stays there.

Not having that when I needed it the most was killing me.

So I felt like I had to trust my roomate.

So far my trust has not been betrayed.

It is probably better that she is in on this.

At least one person in my life knows what is going on.

She knows everything.

She knows things I did not even tell my therapist