sorry, nena

Yesterdaaay...
Es pero que encara llegeixis el meu blog, així et puc preparar pq et dec excuses.
Perdona.

And directly connected to the apologies comes the reason of yesterday's madness. I have been treated like shit.
I don't know why I allow it, or let people untrust me, throw silent shit on me.
This affected me deeply and I had an anxiety attack. I just felt I couldn't be left mute, but I had to repress it and feel slapped as a bitch.
I hadn't had one since 1998, but since I know how to handle it I had it ok without having to call the ambulance.
I guess it is the first thing one thinks about when having an attack: "this is it, I'm dying!

I got to know anxiety when I left my hometown for the second time to go back to Germany. It was really, really hard. I was carrying the shock of the death of a close family member and worse, the weight of leaving my family. And a very special person who probably remembers all that pain. I had forgotten how much it hurt to leave. But I chose a new language and public education from a job I already had in a marketing department and the man I love most in this life.
Back then you want to convince yourself you are doing the right thing. I will never know what it would have turned up of me, of us in BCN, but I have to say the choice was right, but it's hard to stick to it sometimes. Specially when everybody else turned their back on me.
I felt bad, because I felt refused straight away. I was living, as I do unconsciously in two countries at a time. This hasn't change.
I couldn't handle the distance, but I knew I had to. Every night it was the same. I was feeling I was about to die. And I was scared to think that nobody would understand. I would get up the bed and think I should knock on some door, ask for help. I used to do it as a kid, but those were no anxiety attacks. Those were panic attacks, because I couldn't be left alone. I'll have to talk about it with my mother. She's never mentioned, but I remember very well.
Back to the anxiety, I just wanted to describe it, because otherwise I forget all I saw, thought and felt.
The ceiling was getting dark, and shapes were coming, my heartbeat accelerated. And then I recognized it: this is it Selveta. Start breathing or you'll die. Everything twists and you reach a mute calm, and the lights dim and and everything is peaceful and quiet. And then you try to listen to yourself and you are not breathing. You wonder if this is death and for a moment try to accept it. And then, I jump out of the bed, wander around the house to show I am not dead, wonder if I should call 112 and go to bed again because I am cold.
Then I remembered that something reached and overpassed my pain level. It felt very heavy, very heavy. I couldn't breathe.
I like to think romantically and believe that I can't stand being left alone. Mum?