Tag: anxietysucks

Waking in an Anxiety Attack

Wake up from a dead sleep

So many thoughts I can’t grasp one

No breath

Feeling I’m going to split apart

Gulping for air

Fear

The smallest I can go

Arms wrapped around my self

Knees tightly into chest

Nothing slows

The speed of every impulse rushing through

So fast it may just disappear

The fog of everything and nothing

Sickness rises

From a dream? From life?

Try to count

Try to focus

Try to pray

Lose track of the mantra I cling to, to tie me down

Muscles armour, the shell protecting the insides from coming out

Smaller still

Jaw so tightly clenched, small moans escape

Inside the skull deafening screams fill the void

In the darkness I wait for the light to return

Writers Block

I’ve been trying to write for weeks.

It is something that sustains me, it is something that heals me and when I don’t feel heard it as a way to make my voice amplified, to connect and not feel so stuck in my head.

There’s been points in my life where I stepped away from it, much to my detriment.

A few years back, with a renewed energy the stories began to pour out, I committed to working on the shadow side of myself, and from there a few narratives were born. There was some collaboration, tidal wave of inspiration and such trust that the stories and essays would flow.

While this particular bout of writer’s block feels like it came on just after the start of the pandemic, truly, when I look back, it has been a slow death since last fall.

First the fiction. There was the death of two cherished characters. They showed such promise and longevity, and were exhilarating to write.

But unfortunately that once promised epic story has became representative of what has become a bittersweet and painful period for me. In a tortuous narrative, (as devastating as I felt) they met their end. Silenced, stopped in mid journey. In the ether they now languish.

Though I did find the courage just before shut down to submit a short version to a few publications.

There has been a fair amount of interest in what may have come next and some suggestions for editing. The real possibilities to see it in print.

But now I am frozen. I can not bring myself to open the file, to polish it up and let it move forward. I did not anticipate how raw I still feel about all that was lost at that time, including the grief about the two leads. How much I miss them. How much they still have to say.

I’ve been able to hiccup some poems and the odd paragraph out, but even the ability to write essays has withered.

Those are my best connection to navigate the world around me and my mental health. But it has been near impossible to write anything I feel confident with.

I want to add hope, insight and support to the people that read my stuff. But all I can muster is despondent rage, and no adequate words to explain.

Life as we knew it has always had its hardships. But this global clusterfuck has added a layer of grimy soot that has not left anyone untouched.

I wait… wait for the words to come. I hope that there are characters choose to speak. I hope the characters ( myself) I laid waste to may someday forgive me. I wait for wisdom, knowledge and hope to share. I wait for the insight to be able to move through, over, under or around this block that feels insurmountable.

I wait….

TFTFL: Virus Interruptus- This Effing Sucks

I have been wrestling with much in my head. There is so much I want to write, so many pieces to our current situation I want to dissect and understand. But nothing was coming. It’s a jumble. So I shall begin with myself. Not the science of the virus. Not the frustration with the politic. Not with the frustration of the public. Not the admiration of humanity. But with me. In my heart I know the majority of you out there are going to share in much of what I am saying. I know fundamentally my experience is not unique. I know that some people are in far more dire circumstances than I. 

When this viral freight train started baring down on the place where I live, I made some very conscious decisions for my mental health. I would limit negative and hysterical social media. Look to reputable resources for information. Stay in contact with trusted people. Be of service when and where I can. Get rest, eat responsibly and follow my self care plan. Ask for help when I need. Be easy on myself about my daily to do lists. 

With every rise in number affected, hysterical reaction (toilet paper?! I mean come on…), good and questionable government response, restriction of places to go and number of people to see, I kept to my plan.

The last few days have gotten harder. Where I am, we are near the start of the third week of ‘social distancing.’ The restrictions have continued to tighten as portions of the public are not heeding the advice of the very well trained doctors. nurses and scientists. This is frustrating, and by far one the scariest pieces to this. People’s need to be extreme, it either complete lockdown, or just amble along and what ever will happen will happen. The fear, frustration and confusion are palpable for this Empath. Even sitting in the quiet dark of the early morning as I am now, when I am disconnected from the internet and tv, I can feel it lapping at me, like ocean waves moving up the beach at high tide. I have been diligent about checking in on people I care about. Knowing that this situation negatively impacts mental health and communication and support are key. But we are all feeling it and the struggle to maintain balance is getting harder.

I had read an account from someone in China, where they are much farther down this path than we are, that the third week is the hardest. That after that point, it was almost a resignation to the new normal. We are in the start of week three here, and I feel my hope shrinking, I feel the isolation eating at me.

In the last few days, my wide circle of support has shrank, everyone is trying to come to their own terms of what this means financially, physically and emotionally for their own immediate families. The fear is rising as there is much confusion and frustration trying to access programs for financial help, figure out education for our kids and try to gauge what are the normal responses to this very abnormal situation. So they are closing ranks, closing down. Even within my home, where thankfully I am not alone, I have my husband and my daughter. Each of us trying to manage our own and help each other. But the fractures are beginning to show.

My husband still has his job, the hours are iffy, but we are thankful. He is our house’s designate to go out into the ghostly world. It is scary out there, it is different. I don’t envy that. He is inundated with being out there, so he is remiss to discuss much of it when he gets home, he is quite silent as he is trying to cope with his stress response to this. At first this wasn’t the case, there was still lively discourse and positivity that this is all temporary. But it is wearing on him. He doesn’t want to rehash the politic or the new numbers, he sees it all day long. He is frustrated. He is tired.

My eleven year old daughter is trying to come to grips with the loss of school, dance and her social circle. I am trying to help her navigate assimilating all of this, keep her engaged, entertained and educated. She has no sibling in the house with which to spend time with. She uses social media, but I am the only warm human body in the house all day, and given how scary the world is, I am the one she is stuck to. She is frustrated, scared and bored.

I love these two with my whole heart. I deeply care for my friends and clients as well. I have been doing my best to forage ahead, plan, encourage, support and acknowledge the individual feelings. I have done my best to stay informed enough to calmly pass along good information. 

The last two days have been by far the hardest. I have not been reaching out just to check in on others, but I have been reaching out for my own mental health. When the question comes of “how are you?” I pass it off with a trite- ‘surviving like the rest of us.’ But with it wearing on all of us, I have not felt I can speak up much, desperately wanting someone to ask, or at the very least see me. I feel guilty complaining. It feels wrong asking for the type of support I know others need, probably worse than I do. I feel weak for whining. I feel bad saying I need.

I need adult interaction. I need recognition that I too have lost my job, part of my identity. I am not in my element homeschooling, I am afraid, I am angry, I am terrified how this is affecting my child and I am not doing the right things to safe guard her emotionally and mentally. I don’t know the right thing to do. I feel lesser than, because I am not contributing to my household financially. I feel useless I can not treat my clients.

I need it acknowledged that MY feelings are valid and worthy of compassion and space to express, not comparison, overridden or “well it’s everywhere and we are all going through this, others have it worse.” I need it acknowledged that I am grieving the temporary loss of my jobs, which are a major way that I am able to help others. 

I need it acknowledged that in navigating the responsible restrictions we have been given, I have had to give up an important parts of my own self care. Therefore my body pain is staying elevated, my anxiety is humming. This in turn is making some of my other selfceare avenues of exercise and meditation harder. I need my tears dried. I need it acknowledged that for me, right now, this FUCKING SUCKS DONKEY BALLS. I need a big hug. 

And so, after a good cry in the bathroom, or in the dark of the early morning, after venting blindly to you my readers, I will get on with it. I will check in and still help where I can. I will cheerlead, I will support, I will navigate, I will educate. I will cook, clean, try to bring something helpful and beautiful to the world. I will get on with it. You will get on with it. We will get on with it.

Thank you for reading. Be kind. Be smart. Be aware. Be compassionate. 

In the dark

Your best didn’t help anything.’

Those words finally broke the pin that was holding it all together. Those words shred me to ribbons. 
Said by my daughter, in a moment of exhausted, frightened, frustration.

As I lean against the bathroom door, gutted, snot and tears running down my face, in this moment, it crashes in how right she is. 

My best did not salvage her summer. 
My best has not stopped the the nerve damage in her face from making her self conscious at an already precarious time. 
My best did not ensure the pharmacy would be able to get the medications she needs to start right away. 
My best has not hastened the wait to get them tomorrow. 
My best does not reassure her it is temporary. 
My best has not changed my work schedule to be more present for my daughter, my husband.
My best has not armed my daughter well for the pressures of this world. 
My best has not alleviated my husband’s chronic condition. 
My best has not stopped friendships from drifting. 
My best has not sorted my clutter out. 
My best has not supported my friends in helpful ways. 
My best has not defeated my mental monsters.
My best has not gotten me physically back on track
My best has not been a stellar role model

This week has felt like spears coming from all angles.
A long seemingly continuous few days of various life dramas. 
Nights of broken sleep. 
Then my daughters nervous energy about starting school in classes where she really doesn’t know anyone. Hyperaware of her few chicken pox scars and crooked smile.
Tonight, after a long wait at urgent care walk in, to be given a prescription and a referral, only to be told by the late night pharmacy, we need to go to a different one tomorrow as they don’t have what we need. I tried to soothe my frazzled child. I gently remind her I’m doing my best.

‘Your best didn’t help anything’

Her spear hit the pin holding me together and knocked it loose. It all comes out in a torrent of silent tears, behind the bathroom door, as to not disrupt her falling into a sleep she needs.

I sit hours later in the dark, writing, silent tears again, as to not wake the household that so much needs it’s rest. My head pounding. I feel overwhelmed by life, broken by the weight of it. Punished for reasons I’m unclear on. I’m so tired I can’t help but feel this is all personal.
In the silent dark, I try to let it run out of me, the fear, the frustration, the anxiety, the sadness. 
Try to find the pin that was knocked loose, jimmy it back into place. 
And hope that by the light of morning, maybe, just maybe, tomorrow, if I can find my way to it, my best just might be enough to help something.

Choices we make

We choose how we react to any situation. That is our control.

Sometimes it is hard not to take what the universe throws at us very personally. Especially when the monsters in your head can twist much to that bent.

I am not proud of my reactions this morning.

I snarked at some well intended things and was not very understanding to another, and perhaps unkind/cold to another friend who is in distress.

I am tired, I am dealing with the things that hurt, my monsters are loud.

But my things/needs to not supersede anyone else’s. Yet I want to scream ‘what about me? I have shit to, incase it matters!!’

In these moments I feel lost, in my heart I want to offer gratitude, love and compassion- despite the deficit I feel. I used to be able to choose that almost instantly- despite the monsters.

This morning I did not / could not make that choice. My monsters whisper that no one makes that choice for me, so why bother for anyone else…… I am overwhelmed, overthinking and overtired. These are not meant as excuses, just a framework for how my monsters can take over.

I know I will owe apologies but I believe I am entitled to some understanding.

For now, until this current storm passes, and my tears dry, my choice will now be to be quiet ( the adage, ‘if you can’t say anything nice….) to try to do some good somewhere today, and hope that those I was not the best to this morning understand and choose to kindness, compassion and understanding in my direction.

Always choose kindness when you can. Try to remember it’s rarely personal, trust that you do count, you do matter and love yourself first, even when the monsters seem to be the ones in the drivers seat.

✌🏻