Aspen
If you didn’t gather this already, I occasionally suffer from extreme and debilitating panic attacks.
I know how to stop them coming on, of course. About once a month, I spend a week or so’s earnings on Xanax, Klonopin, or whatever Rick Jones has in stock that day, and every time I feel an attack starting to brew, I pop a pill. It doesn’t work flawlessly, but it gets the job done. More or less.
Unfortunately, I used the last of my pills at the Red Light on Sunday, and I can’t exactly ask Rick for more—which means I’m going into one of the most anxiety-inducing nights of my life empty-handed.
Really, what am I thinking, doing a live concert like this—especially with only one day of real practice? It’s like I’m asking for a panic attack.
Stop it, Aspen, I tell myself, shaking thes
