This is my 2015 Blog for mental health post for today.

It usually takes me an hour to walk to my therapy sessions.

They take an hour longer now because of the panic attacks that began in the fall of 2014.

These panic attacks must be related to something I don’t remember or to feelings that I was told I shouldn’t have.

“You can’t be angry at your Mother” My Mother used to scream at me as she beat me with whatever was handy and solid.

My therapist thinks I’m angry.

Am I angry? I don’t know.

I need to take an extra half a milligram of Clonazepam to make it to therapy.

The attacks begin as soon as I enter the street.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t walk.

Every step brings me closer fainting.

I stop.

I pace my breath.

Everything goes black, then it’s over until it starts…