You can’t always fix a brain. You can alter it, work on it, and try to ignore it but it will never really change. It will always be the brain that you’re forced to go back to when you’re sick of trying to find remedies. I think that deep down, I know that I will never be able to rid myself of hypochondria. This is very sad to think about. But I’m lucky in a way, because I’m the kind of person who won’t ever let it crush me. I laugh at it. I laugh at it after I break down in those moments of panic that I dearly hate. But I do eventually laugh at it- after I wake from those crazy episodic states. Those moments feel like dreams later on. As if they never existed. I always hold on to the hope that maybe they never really happened.