Today was a good day.  I was nauseous and had to force myself to eat a salad for lunch; I was exhausted in a very literal sense; and I experienced stabbing stomach pains as I panicked during the last half hour of work—all while making sure I didn’t waste the company’s time.  It was a good day because I only experienced pique panic for an hour or so.  I went through most of the day distracted by deadlines and meetings and passive aggressive emails.

On the one hand, it makes me sad that a good day, these days, is a day I’m completely distracted, even overwhelmed, by mindless work.  Essentially, good days are the days I best dissociate.

Damn.  I miss the girl who wanted to feel each day.  I miss the girl who saw such sad beauty and meaning in everything.

On the other hand, my mind was quiet enough to allow me to do my work.  The thought thrills me!  Maybe the Clonazepam is working.  Maybe the 30 mg of Lexapro isn’t too high for such a tiny girl.  Maybe things won’t hurt so much from now on.

I hope.  I hope.  I’m so afraid it won’t—stop.