For the past 48 hours, I’ve felt a building panic. I slept poorly last night because of it, tossing and turning until one, eventually heading to the couch.
Last week I felt so “on top” of my life. Today and yesterday I’m flailing. I’m overwhelmed by everything. I’m questioning my resolve, my strength.
It’s two steps forward, one step back. But the step back always feels so far and scary when you feel yourself stepping back and can’t do anything to stop it.
I want to crawl into bed and shake and cry today. I want to pull the covers over my head and be alone.
Panic makes me cold, and I’m here, wrapped in a blanket with goosebumps.
I’m tired of feeling this way, I’m tired of fighting it away. It will pass, I know it will pass. But will it pass before it explodes? Will it pass before I say things I can’t take back? Will it pass in time for me to write an exam, complete my assignments? Or will it get the best of me, end in a fight with Steve or something else that leaves me regretful and tearful.
I can deal with the negative thoughts, I can successfully talk myself out and up, away from them. But the anxiety is different. It’s stronger, more forceful. It cannot be spoken to logically, it does not listen. It quiets for an hour or two, but wakes up and sneers again in moments of quiet.
It tells me that I am unloved, unlovable. It tells me that I am a fool, that I have been betrayed, that I don’t deserve any of this, just you wait and see you foolish girl.
It’s been weeks since I’ve felt this way, and yet, the feeling is so familiar that it seems like it never left at all. Because I’m here, again, with all the same thoughts and fears and for all my hard work, today it feels like nothing’s changed at all.