As I type I’m slamming large mugs of decaf jasmine sleepy time tea. Forgive me if I slump over in a completely relaxed hump on top of my computer yielding a post of jibberish. I’m mostly hoping that this damn anxiety will shake. There is so much I want to being doing right now. I want to finish my current YA read and sink into East of Eden. Blogging and responding to comments and visiting other blog lovelies would be nice. I would most enjoy some sleep and by “some sleep” I mean a solid 12-hour chunk of restful slumber.
But I can’t sleep. Partly because of children and partly because I just stare with dry burning eyes at the ceiling each night waiting for sleep. I find little pockets of time to read and write and completely lack the energy to do it. And yes, I have cut back on coffee. I need some coffee because the two to four hours of sleep each night renders me useless and I have to keep trudging on. If you haven’t noticed, I have a touch of the clinical depression with a giant heap of generalized anxiety on top. Lovely. I’m reminding myself each day that I am one day closer to this spell being over, but it feels like I will feel like this forever. That’s a hopeless feeling. To know you have a good life but to be unable to decide it you want to cry or realizing you can’t cry because your heart and breath throttle your chest so hard. You bastard panic bird. I once listened to a TED talk where the speaker discussed anxiety as constantly having that feeling that you are about to fall. Yes. Falling. It sucks.
My depression and an anxiety haven’t been this severe for several years. Part of the contribution to my current state is from a million little things that add up to make a big, ugly landslide of mental illness. These things on their own wouldn’t be too bad, but things are just hitting me at a time when I feel a bit vulnerable.
I’ve gained 40 pounds in the past few months. That’s partly why I nixed vegetarianism; I thought maybe I needed to reassess my food intake (too much bread or cheese, maybe?). I started back to therapy to make sure my binge eating was under control and I have not binged since April as a result. I’m doing low-impact aerobics and swimming a few days a week. I’m back to logging food on the Weight Watcher app. I’m drinking less coffee and more water. Still… weight gain. I noticed my right ankle swelling to the point of painfulness, but if I stretch out on the floor with my foot above my head it goes away within ten minutes. I also have splotches on both feet. Off to the doctor I went and I’m still waiting for some test results. Oh, and my joints ache. I’ve lost three pounds in the past week, but mostly that is from the exercise and not eating for most of the day. That sounds worse than it is… I’m just not hungry until lunchtime. This gaining weight and feeling awful isn’t good for my self image, I feel like a fat fuck-up on most days.
I have a long list of other stuff to write, but I just can’t. Maybe the tea has kicked in? My kids are challenging right now, our Dolores Umbridge character at work is being especially Umbridg-y, and I’m just tired of noise.
All this to say…
I don’t know. What was I going to say. I had a point and now I’ve lost it. I can’t uncloud my thoughts long enough to figure out my point. I’m going to bed now. If you believe in God please pray I get some uninterrupted sleep. And if you don’t believe in God then send me a good wish or twelve.