So someone told me they told their therapists everything. And they meant EVERYTHING. And I realized I don’t. There are things that I can’t talk about with a therapist. I don’t know why. I guess I just don’t trust them enough. I’ve been seeing my therapist now for about a year. And I still can’t let her in about things. It’s almost like if I told her something’s she’d judge me or because I’ve never talked about them I just don’t know how to start or what it would sound like if I said it. I mean nothing that I’ve kept hidden is all that ground breaking. It’s not like I was molested or beaten as a kid. It isn’t anything like that and still I can’t let anyone in. I think if it was something that big and that serious I would tell someone about those things. As foolish as that is. How do you open up? Maybe this is why I’m not totally benefiting from the whole therapy experience.

I had therapy scheduled for last Thursday and I canceled it. I told myself I didn’t need to but later realized that the reason I did it was so that I didn’t have to tell her I’d had 4 panic attack in the last week. I mean this is what I talk to her for, for when I need it. When I have panic attacks and when things get really tough. But yet when the tough gets going, I get going. I freak and realize that if I were to talk about it, it will just end up making me feel shitty because I’ll have to relive the reasons I was having panic attacks and then for the ones I didn’t know why I’d have to explain what I was feeling before or whatever. I just don’t think I’m ready to deal with it right now. I mean I get insecure sometimes and I freaked out thinking my boyfriend was cheating on me so I went into freak out mode and had a hard core panic attack in the closet. Hyperventilation, shaking, tight chest and the having a heart attack feeling. The whole 9 yards. I just don’t want to admit that I was that freaked out I guess. I just did though. Here w/o having to actually tell someone and not having to hear the words that would follow inevitably. I know in my heart of hearts my boyfriend wouldn’t cheat on me but there is always that little voice that tells me I’m not good enough and I’m boring and will loose him just like I lost my last boyfriend. The other 3 panic attacks came out of no where, for no reason and I just lost it. No warning, no reasoning.

Sometimes I feel so guilty for even having anxiety, for having depression. Because I don’t live a life that grants me those complaints. I’ve never seen real struggle, I’ve never witnessed death or pain. I’ve never suffered. I just think that everyone else has had it So much worse then me that I don’t deserve to complain. I should be happy with what I’ve been handed. And I am grateful. I really am, that I’ve been able to live a seemingly normal, all American life. Both parents were involved in my life as a kid. Up until I turned 15. I went to school. Had the few friends I did. I spent the night at girls houses. I never went hungry. My parents provided for us every holiday even if we were poor. I always had a roof over my head and never went to school without a shower. We weren’t rich by any means but my parents always found ways to make sure that you couldn’t really tell. Sure I didn’t have new tennis shoes every year and sure I had to wear the same jeans year after year. I had to wear non white sock. But who really cares. At least I had clothes, at least I was fed. But yet kids would poke fun, point and laugh. Tell me I was poor. I’d go home crying on the bus. But its not like they hit me or hurt me.

Now I live in a nice house with my boyfriend. We’ve got jobs, I don’t have to worry about paying my car payment or insurance. We do things like travel & things that are fun and yet I still feel like crap. It’s annoying and it pisses me off. I just want to feel happy.