Hallucinations, My Will to Live, and Some Anxiety

Well, until I can get a legitimate psychiatrist, I'm going to treat you, my audience, as a substitute. So prepare yourselves for potential incoherence beyond belief!

I don't remember if I've talked about hallucinations here in the past, but if I have, well, stinks to be you, because you get to hear about them again. Fun! Anyhow, for the last year or so, I have only been able to go to bed with the assistance of YouTube because I'm too scared to be in my room "alone" in the dark due to the figures I see around me. Sounds childish, right? It might be, because I've had the feeling of someone watching me before bed since I was probably around four, except back then, it'd manifest itself in the form of a large animal outside, not a human with me. If left alone with these figures, I will have an immediate panic attack and generally be petrified. My solution to this was to allow so-called ASMRtists to whisper me to sleep. For those curious, I do not actually experience the phenomenon known as ASMR, which is generally described as a pleasurable tingling in the back of the head or neck. However, I do find that listening to these people can be immensely reassuring to me.

Last night I was discussing these figures with a friend of mine, when she suggested something that sounded ludicrous at first: sympathize with them. Maybe even talk aloud to them; have a conversation. Imagine being feared simply because you exist. I thought I might as well try it out, and wow, it helped tremendously. I was able to get a decent night's sleep for the first time in months! Later on in that initial conversation, though, she said something else that hit me hard: a simple mention of the afterlife. And it was in that moment that I finally realized that I DO want to live. I used to think that I had a duty to life, to improve others' condition. And yes, I do still feel that way, but I am actually excited to! I want to make a difference. But apart from that, I discovered that I have friends. Friends that I enjoy talking with. Friends that will help me through the difficult times. Friends that support me not because they necessarily feel obligated to, but because maybe they like me. And that is a damn good feeling to have. And yet - I'm scared of death again. I fear that I will not achieve what I must; that I will die in my current miserable state. I have to get somewhere in this life first, but I'm not sure that I'll be permitted to.

However, before I can achieve anything, I have to make it through five more years of public school as well as however many are necessarily of college/grad school. And I tell you, just going into school to set up my locker today gave me no fewer than three panic attacks, which I dealt with by uttering the phrase "fuck it" over and over as well as exaggeratedly chewing gum. Yes, I know that sounds obnoxious, but hey, it was a coping mechanism.

I decided yesterday that I want, nay, need, to be out at school this year. I cannot deal with the pain of staying in the closet. I fired off an email to my counselor from last year, asking that he please explain name/pronouns to my teachers if at all possible. And guess what? I got an automated response saying that he's on paternity leave until the first day back and won't be reading mail regularly. I'll wait to see if I get any response, but if I don't by say, Thursday, I'll mail my new teachers myself and explain it. It'll be tremendously uncomfortable, but it's better than having to explain in front of the whole class, I suppose.

I made it through twenty minutes of being at school today by doing two things that are prohibited in it and still had multiple anxiety attacks, likely caused by studiously avoiding my classmates. I saw probably ten that I considered to be casual acquaintances (no, I don't call them friends, because I trust friends). None recognized me, even having looked at my face, which is a relief, because I sure as hell didn't want to explain transitioning in front of my father, who accompanied me.

As always, we'll see what happens.