Sometimes taking it one day at a time is the hardest thing in the world to do. Yesterday was an oppurtunity for me to get back into the social scene a little bit. And I blew it- big time. This morning the tension in the air is thick and I feel completely responsible. But I'm not ready to talk about it with my husband yet, because Im feeling far too vulnerable and I think he's a little irritated with me.

Yesterday was the NFL Draft, which is a huge deal to Aaron and all of his friends. I had known weeks ahead of time that we'd be having people over, but yesterday morning the anxiety started getting to me. I tried to be a trooper- picking out a cute outfit, jumping into a hot shower, putting on makeup. All the normal things normal people do. But nothing would quell the anxiety in my mind. People began arriving at noon, and I was feeling incapable of being social. I quietly hung around until people started getting restless, and wanted to start betting on shuffleboard and getting their drink on.

I couldn't hang around and watch. I just couldn't. I was the only woman there, and felt out of place. My pain was increasing as my anxiety got worse, so I headed upstairs for quiet solitude.

I remained in bed until 8 am this morning. For hours I lay in my room, crying in despair, wondering why I felt so fucking freakish. Hearing the noise travel up through the vents drove me crazy because everyone was having a good time but me. In the evening, a few girls came, but by that time I was in no shape to see anyone. And the shame- I knew I was making things worse by isolating, but I felt powerless to stop it. Deciding to force sleep, I took my nightly sleeping pill, and hoped that I could at least get relief that way... And when I woke up at 4:30 this morning, I was so relieved to hear quiet.

And now come the ramifications of my pout fest. The tension in the air, the continued shame, and the worry that I will never get better.