What if I let the panic exist. Welcome it, even. What if I stop fighting it and worrying when it will return and if I will have support in those moments?

Deep breath. Keep breathing.

It’s just the part of me that is so scared, is 10-12 years old. And 10-year-olds need help. They are still learning. They can still diffuse anxiety and chaotic feelings with co-regulation. Inside stress, they need their family or inner circle to guide them. They need to be loved on and cared for, parent to child. They are still dependent for so many things, even though they wish they were completely independent.

This is me, now, in this constant state of panic. No ones body can sustain true panic—I am going from intense panic attacks to short term relief to prolonged states of anxiety —to mini panic attacks I push down because I’m not in a place to let them out— and it is a loop I want out of.

I want to do what I’ve been taught to do. I’m trying to do what I’ve been taught to do. But little-me is adamant that all that will actually work is the safety of a wolf pack hug.

My eating disorder loves to shower this part of me with shame.

So I have panic and shame and exhaustion from this fight.