Rome

I had been looking forward to a break away in a foreign country for a long time.

I had been to Rome previously, and loved it, so always wanted to return, so it was an easy decision to make.

I mostly had a really good time. But I did have an anxiety attack, and possibly the worst one I have ever had, as there is a period of up to two hours that I simply do not remember. I don't remember getting up, if I hate, and how I make my way to the bus station to catch a bus to Naples for my day trip to Vesuvius and Pompeii. I remember feeling sick and on edge, and confused. I decided that it was unsafe for me to continue with my original plans that day, which left me feeling gutted as I had been really looking forward to it. I cried.

Instead I decided to head towards the sea, Ostia, by metro train. It didn't take long to get to, yet felt like a million miles away from the bustle of the city. I found it calming, and was what I needed.

I managed to continue with my holiday, but felt on edge for the remainder of it, concerned that I would have another episode.

I kept my closest friend, and also the girl I have been seeing updated, and both of them did their best to help me remain calm, and focus on the good.

I wish to return to Italy, maybe see a couple of cities in one go. I think it would be better than I travel when I am more mentally stable, maybe this trip on my own came a bit too soon for me, or if I had someone to go with, someone who would be able to ground me when I found myself in trouble.

Small Battles

Earlier in the week, I was invited out to bingo and for Nando's with what I thought, was a couple of friends.

I agreed, even though I expected some form of panic to proceed the evening. I was not wrong.
Sure enough, as I was getting ready, I in fact did have a panic attack.

I managed to get myself together, and made my way the bingo hall. I got there early, so decided to go in and get a table, and messaged my friends to say where I was sitting.

The response I got was to try and get another table as there was nine of them.

Nine.

I was expecting three people, not nine. I immediately started to try and think of a way I could just go home. 

I stayed put. But I was not at ease at all. I felt myself get light-headed, and was aware of my increasing heart rate through the evening.

Somehow, I managed myself through the whole night, without having a further panic attack.

This is progress. I was proud of this minor achievement. So I shared my feelings on Facebook.

I typed this and debated whether or not I should post it. It was gone one in the morning, so I decided to post it, and I could always delete it.

I then went to sleep. When I woke up, I didn't goo straight on Facebook, but when I did, I was surprised at what I saw.

Messages of support. Public and private ones. I had been worried about sharing a bit too much, no one had known how bad this problem had gotten.

I feel lighter for it, and I feel like there might be light at the end of the tunnel.