I woke up at 3am.
Actually, my FitBit said that my sleep ended at 2:20am. So, I’ve been awake since 2:20, and while I am tired, I’m still humming along (somehow) with adrenaline coursing through me.
For no fucking reason.
I haven’t been chased by any rabid, gun-toting, creepy gravelly-voiced bears this morning, or nearly get run over by three cars running a red light, or missed any stair steps.
But it feels like I had.
I haven’t been contacted by my family of origin, haven’t had a particular increase in nightmares (although have had a few), and haven’t experienced any triggers that I can recall. But it feels like I just opened up another nastygram email detailing what a horrible daughter I’d been.
See, that’s the thing. I can’t figure out why so I can fix it and feel better.
I woke up at 3am, and since I couldn’t sleep, finally got out of bed at 3:30 to try to draw. Drawing is usually relaxing for me–I can get into the zone, focus on the details, and then feel considerable pleasure from looking at my finished product, my accomplishment. Maybe I suck at a lot of things, but I didn’t suck at this!
But as I tried to measure out my grid for copying a photograph of my daughter (since without a grid people turn into Sloth with terrible proportions), I could barely focus. I sketched the outline of her head, started shading details, and negative thoughts floated by. This is terrible. I can’t do it. Ugh, I should just stop. And stop I did, for now.
I did the dishes, but the cats kept meowing for food (asshole cats) and one insistently kept trying to rub against my legs for wuv and kissies, but the feel of his fur, the constant attention, it drove me up the wall and I did a dance to try to avoid it because I got so inexplicably overwhelmed and stressed by it.
This damn anxiety has been ramping up over the last few weeks, becoming overwhelming a couple weeks ago that I had to cancel on a toddler birthday party to go to therapy and remind myself of how to ground myself and container things. I keep faking it at work, but there are times people say things and I understand each of the words separately but they don’t make any sense together, let alone integrate that knowledge with my other knowledge. In fact, that happened at the last therapy session, too. Some things I could talk about, but when we talked of narcissistic abuse and some of my nightmares and healing, I could not understand what she was saying. I mean, I heard it, but I didn’t understand.
Apparently that is a form of disassociation. Which happens with anxiety.
I used to be more resilient, and need only a few minutes of me time in order to recover from stresses, it doesn’t take much to nearly push me over the edge, and I can’t recover.
But I can fake it. I keep on faking it. If you ask me, ‘how are you doing?’ I will say, “Pretty good, and you?” And I can look fine. I can fake fine, but internally I want to bolt and run away because I don’t want to snap and crab at people.
But as I stand here, typing away, with adrenaline coursing through my arms and legs, making them feel weak and shaky, I wonder why.
What the fuck is wrong with my brain?
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