Here we go again. It’s starts all over again. The thinking, the thinking of everything and then eventually it gets so loud, almost to fever pitch and then….silence. You can sleep. But you are left with sleep deprivation because by the time it finished the sun was up and ringing in your ears.
It all starts with one thing that someone says or does. Like maybe, that look they gave you at exactly 10.30am as you were leaving a shop. Or, that thing they said at precisely 1pm. Then you start thinking about if it meant anything. If there’s a deeper meaning. You know that really there isn’t but still the battle has begun.
It takes up your thoughts. So much so that you can’t talk. You can’t watch anything, listen to anything, read anything. It just consumes you whilst affecting those around you. The ones who are stood by you and can see that there is something going on behind your eyes but they don’t know what it is or what to say. They carry on as normal whilst hoping that you’re not mad at them for some unbeknownst reason.
Then when finally it’s over, you just want to shut down. Your energy is low and your brain feels like mush but it’s time to get up and start another day.
Your tired, you feel stupid and you feel sorry. Sorry to those who didn’t see you but were expecting to, but you just couldn’t function. To those who were around you, for just shutting down without warning. For behaving in an unsettled way by being busy and hyper to being…well to just stopping. Then finally, your sorry to you. For making yourself feel the way you did. For tearing pieces off yourself and then spitting them back in your face.
I think that in the end, the person left with the short straw is you. You self sabotage yourself to a point where your just not quite sure what to do with yourself afterwards. You don’t know which piece to put back first. You can see what your doing and your trying hard to fix it but you can’t. Then you wait till it’s over and before fixing yourself first you try to fix everything on the outside instead. Leaving yourself wounded and scarred.
By no stretch of the mind is this thing easy, it’s hard every step through it. But it doesn’t mean that that’s how it is all the time. But when it’s bad it’s bad. Anxiety. I hate the name. I don’t think it’s bad enough a word. Living nightmare or mental mutilation might be more appropriate. The damage is hard to fix after a night like mine but you’ve got to try and get that sleep, try to function adequately. Try to forgive yourself, or you run the risk of it coming again sooner than expected.
It’s like after a storm, you have to get up, check the damage and then smile. Even though it’s raining still. Because you know, it will pass. It. Will. Pass.