So I'm having a little mini-meltdown. Like it says over yonder in my profile, I'll start medical school in August (God willing.) Now, this is what I want to do. It's what I think I was intended to do. I have been blessed with the ability to understand and remember most things science (except organic chemistry, which is the bane of my existence, but I'm sure it's only required for entrance to medical school to weed people out.) And I also have a big interest in stuff like anatomy, physiology, micro, pharmacology, etc. Also, I like the idea of using both of those gifts to make people feel better.

I'm an only child, and I've lived at home up to this point because I get along well with my parents, it's cheaper than rent, and I'm just not wild about the idea of living by myself. (I'm not wild about the idea of living with someone else, either. I think I'm kind of like a cat in that respect -- I like to have someone nearby, but I don't necessarily want or need them to be right in my face.) But I live 80 miles round-trip from school, and though I commuted for undergrad and graduate classes (and work) I won't be able to do it for medical school because I could use those extra 10 hours per week to study. And I'll have 8:00 classes every day. (Bleargh.)

For some reason, when I went to bed Saturday night, I had a fleeting thought about school and the impending move (as I often do) but this thought brought with it the familiar physical symptoms of a panic attack. I was thinking, "Nooooooo. Not. Again." I had a horrible struggle with panic and anxiety and all of that when I was nearing the end of high school, because I was terrified of college. The first two weeks of my first semester, I barely slept or ate, and spent a lot of nights pacing around the house and throwing up. It was great fun.

But I decided that I was NOT going to let my anxiety keep me in my house, away from everything unknown or scary. I couldn't believe that could be the plan that God has for me. Maybe part of the plan, but not THE plan. I prayed, and prayed, and read and re-read certain Bible passages. And near the end of the second horrible week of my freshman year, I met Scott, who is just too good to be true. He's been a huge support through the panic and the depression and the fear.

So in January of 2002, I was able to detox from my anxiety medication (Ativan) and I've only had scattered problems since then, until Saturday night.

I'm afraid I won't be able to sleep if I'm in an apartment by myself, and that my schedule won't allow for any kind of nervous breakdown (which I always seem to have at the start of a big new endeavor) without completely screwing up in school. I'm afraid I'll panic in the middle of class or something and [junior high] everyone will think I'm weird [/junior high]. So, true to the progression of panic disorder, I'm afraid of the next attack and where I'll be when it happens, and what effect it will have on my schedule for the next day.

But still, in the back of my mind, as I was collapsed on the bathroom floor from expelling emptiness from my nervous stomach, I thought of that verse in Jeremiah, when God is speaking to those in exile from Jerusalem into Babylon: "'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the LORD , 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future'" (Jeremiah 29:11, NIV). And I can't believe that God blessed me with the gifts that He did, for which I'm so thankful, and then expects me to keep them inside my house, withdrawn in fear. I guess this is what is meant by stepping out on faith -- I will do the thing that scares me the most, and trust Him to be there to catch me.