Today I'd set out to write a post on "The Groundhog Day of the Soul"... but, perhaps sadly, that might have to wait until 2nd February 2018. [I've also decided not to go out tonight... though happily I won't have to wait a year for the next opportunity to do so!] But anyway, this afternoon, instead of writing my post, I found myself in the middle of a bloody awful anxious/low mood. An attack, by anyone's standards. What my grandmother might call "a right steel-tipped kick in the bollocks". As it happened, in the midst of this, I made the decision to sign in here, and tried to blog my thoughts as they came... [see previous post] But how to describe it, now, in hindsight? It was like a stabbing, of sorts. A stabbing in an old, well-known wound where I've been stabbed a number of times before. As it happened I felt a number of things...  I felt PANIC, simply bleeding out of me. That cruel voice, like my own voice, but harsher: "You're always going to feel like you're on the rack. Tough shit. Live with it..."  I felt SHAME -- Unremitting shame and a complete dispersion of self-worth. Why bother contacting anyone? Why would anyone I know care that I feel bad? The cruel voice again: "No-one thinks well of you... and you're a deluded fool, Buffy, to think that anyone would."  I felt MISERY... the heaviness of existence plonked on my fragile, seemingly broken skeleton. How I'd managed to live so long was just a mystery.  I felt GRIEF... the brutal, aching grief of loss; the loss of those friends/loved ones gone from the world, and also for those friendships cooled or lost [as happens to us all]. I miss them all... sometimes more than I realise.  I felt EMPTINESS... as if all the good, all the sense of self, that had bled out of me could never be replaced. The result of all this? I wanted to die. I just did; there's no other way to put it. Of course I wasn't going to do anything about it -- but I was drowning. Anyway, it took a while, and I'm getting back to what can be reasonably called a Good Place. I've texted two friends and I've spoken to a few bloggers. I'm able to begin to put this in perspective, and I'm glad I didn't self-destruct in any dramatic way. It's also one of those little wake up calls: there are life changes I want [& need] to make, that I've not made before due to fear or for other reasons. These changes must be made... and I'm going to see what I can do. Think bigger. Reach higher. No shame in not achieving all you've set out to achieve... there's plenty of time yet. In the meantime, though, it's worth remembering my self-worth... in spite of Anxiety's attempts to take it permanently from me today, wholesale. I'm proud of myself. In a small way. Again.