I just called my psydoc and when I told him what has happening to me, he told me I was trying to make "a chicken soup withoutc chicken" or in other words, brewing conflict when there was none. I know that. He told me that I had an excellent relationship with my mother, no deadlines and no debts and I should gave thanks to god. I know that. He told me (rather forcefully) that for my panic attacks, which are nothing (or came for nothing) I should just take my medicine, which is for depression. To. just. take. my. medicine. In a curt and I think exasperated tone of voice.

And I can't stop crying.

I know I have nothing to fear. I know that I have my mother. I know that I have a great life. But that doesn't stop the sweat and the palpitations in my hands, the stress in my back and the guilt in my mind. That hadn't stopped me crying in the morning feeling sick in the evening or having these thoughs of tragedy circling my mind.

He is more than likely being right, but it hurts dammit. It hurts that he acted that way when is the second time in a year that I had called him and none in the last two I had seeing him. It hurts that he only gave me less than five minutes and it's my fault because I thought he would be kinder. Maybe it's what I need, this slap to wake up,

But it hurts and I feel like utter ****.

I hope feel better latter.

I am in my other city, having to stay because my photos wouldn't come out until yesterday and I'm alone and tomorrow was supposed to be the annual reunion with somewhat I think people that like me and it was going to be great and now I must stay here preparing for the moving and I'm so alone and I can't talk to anybody and I fear going out of my diet and I'm whinning and have everything but that doesn't stop the tears coming.