For the most part, my plan to have a week full of fun-in-the-sun, while still managing to be a little productive, has been pretty successful. Yesterday, (Day 3) Zoey and I took a nice long walk with Belle through Central Park, and at night we (plus Husband) went to a Broadway show with Grandma. She took us to see Peter and the Star Catcher.
It was really great and nothing like we expected. It’s a creative prequel to Peter Pan. There are about a dozen actors who put on a hilarious and talented show for fans of all ages. The first half was good, but the second half was phenomenal! It’s not a musical, although there is music. It’s like a smaller, music-less, less-sparkly relative of Wicked.
I planned to go to bed as soon as we got home from the play so I could get up early and workout before another adventurous day. This has been my plan every day this week.
It’s yet to happen.
I have been super anxious this week. I don’t know if it’s because work starts next week, or because I HAVE to go to the doctor in in the next couple of weeks, or for no reason at all. What I do know is that my appetite had dwindled to nothing, I am sick at my stomach half of the day, and sleep doesn’t come until 4am.
I have lain in bed with my eyes closed, refusing to even blink, counting sheep and my blessings, taking deep breaths, and nothing! What’s really frustrating is that I AM SO TIRED! So tired, and all I want to do is sleep. Instead, I breathe and I count, and then I think. I think, “I am never going to sleep again. I have probably started some terrible habit and I’ll only ever get two hours of sleep the rest of my life. My heart’s beating too fast. I can’t breathe. I’m hot. I’m scared. I’m so tired! Shit, I’m freaking myself out….breathe…count…” and so on.
Around 4am I’ll doze off to a land of insanely absurd and stressful dreams. My alarm goes off at 6:45, and I stumble onto the couch, and fall back asleep until someone (typically Zoey) calls and wakes me up again.
Anxiety attacks are like rolling down a hill. Once it starts, it doesn’t stop. It just snowballs until the bumpy ride down the hill (which often feels like a mountain) ends in a crash landing, and you’re left wondering if you will recover. And when you do eventually recover you wonder if you are permanently damaged, and how long you have until you stumble down another hill.
Right now I am teetering at the top of a hill, starting to trip, but not yet tumbling.
I guess it’s probably a good thing that I will be going to the doctor soon. I need my anti-anxiety meds, and probably a good therapist.
Until then, I will be trying my best to focus on this glorious last week of summer vacation. If I still can’t sleep when work rolls around, I’ll see what a couple glasses of wine can do to calm my nerves.