I dream. A lot. And vividly. It isn't just color, taste and smell vivid. It's all that plus emotions and lucid thought. Almost every night, repeatedly. There are times when I wake up and feel so detached from reality, after a night of endless dreams, that I have to remind myself who I am. Over and over. Most times the dreams fade and I resume a normal day, other times I can't shake it.
This morning I had an exceptionally emotional dream, but one of those dreams you know was a dream. Peddling your car among the birds type feel. But that didn't change the emotional rampage that was warring inside of me looking for real situations to attach to.
I tried to start my day normally, albeit very early. With coffee made and the dogs let out I sat down at my computer to do the morning Stuff To Accomplish Today and it all went down hill from there. I couldn't get the photos right, I couldn't remember what I had planned to do, I got stuck working on an item that I had no intention of listing anytime soon, the toddler woke up in a flurry of cuddles and broke my concentration and I realized my coffee was cold and it's been almost two hours. The emotional turmoil is boiling and I don't know why. 99% of the time I can run through an inner dialogue while working, do some serious personal reflection and find the trigger to work my way back. Nope. Nothing.
Calculating. Crunching numbers. Evaluating my prices, income projections, raw material value, inventory... This is what keeps me collected while I chatter with the toddler and go take a shower. I wash my hair, twice, because I can't stop my scalp from itching. I scrub with apricot scrub and an exfoliating pad from head to toe. I let the water beat on my shoulders while the tub fills up so ms toddler can play while I try to decompress. She wants out. She begs for baths all day long and now wants out. All the sudden I'm angry. I'm angry with the hubs for not being awake, not giving me the time I need that morning, the sudden appearance of the toddles and that I don't know if I can calmly get dry, get her wrapped up, dry, dressed, fed... and there he is sitting on his computer like it's any other morning. The toddler is handed to him with a snarky remark about finally getting out of bed and I go back to the shower.
I can't breathe. My muscles are knotting up. Why does he get to sleep in. I work too. My job is demanding and I have the toddler while doing it. What makes what I do less demanding. Any less deserving of sleeping in. Why are there tears. What's wrong with me.
Inner dialogue. Breathing exercises. Rational thought comes into focus and slips away to the reeling tide of the unknown. Focus. Focus. Long enough to wash your hair. Again. Scrub down. Again. Focus. Focus. It doesn't work.
I make it to my bedroom, put on my favorite perfume because sometimes comforting smells can bring me back around. Nothing. Fuck. Don't look in the mirror. That's a rabbit hole I know to avoid. I'm lost deep inside one already. I. Just. Can't. I can't focus, I can't think, I can't do anything.
I lay down and cover my eyes. The tunnel is getting tighter and darker. Why can't I make it stop. Hours being pulled into the black hole. I don't know how to get away. Rational thought doesn't exist here.
Fuck, I hear his voice. He thinks I'm angry. If he comes in here I'm going to break. Tears so far, but no sobbing, just the tears. But he does. He comes in and is on the defensive. Asks if I have a migraine. And I tell him the truth. I woke up having an anxiety attack and can't get out. I break. Admitting it out loud crushes me. I'm fucking utterly ashamed. I'm smarter than this. I was in control. I could take on any random emotional outburst and conquer it with rational thought and reasoning. Now I'm weak. Fucking weak and a waste of all the effort I've put in to being in control.
In the years we've been together he's never seen a full blown, completely incapacitating anxiety attack. He flounders. He was expecting me to blow him off and tell him I need time to calm down. Just another minor outburst that I need to work through. But I don't do that. Instead I crumble in front of him.
This man recovers. He's a fucking hero. Somehow he knows I need him, but not too close, a hand through the hair, his presence next to me. He asks me what i usually do to bring myself back, and I just tell him it didn't work. Any of it. He doesn't question if I've tried this or that, he's just there. Telling me everything's ok. He doesn't tell me to relax, uncover my face, look at him, nothing. He talks about how he went to the store late last night so i could have bread for toast, and other things I don't remember.
The toddler and the dogs join us. She's so calm and sweet. My poor sprite has no understanding of what's going on, but knows that mommy has an owie.
He's still talking. Just simple things. Everyday things. Not one time does he mention anything that would cause my anxiety to peak higher.
Suddenly my blood pressure drops. I take a deep breath and exhale to a full on migraine. Nausea hits, my jaw aches, noises become unbearably loud. But I'm back. I'm back. He brought me back.
Another unknown amount of time passes while I continue to listen to him talk, he turns out lights and adds pressure to my head while I try to open my eyes without passing out.
I'm an emotional wreck. Balancing on the tipping point of going back over the edge. But he helps me up and we go to the kitchen. I make it to the counter where the fresh pot of coffee is and the drugs are in the cabinet above. But I can't get the steps right to make myself a cup. Stupid. Fucking stupid. He stops talking and I realize I said it out loud. He asks if he needs to make it. No, I got it.
Coffee made, a couple pills for my headache in my hand, and I'm looking for my oh shit pills. That I just recalled I have. They're here somewhere. I have to find them. I can't relapse today. I can't. I can't find them. Fuck. I'm shaking. What if I can't find them? I'm emptying the cabinet. There. Right there. Two added to my little pile and I break again.
I'm kneeling in the kitchen and can't breathe. Why won't it just stop. Another unknown amount of time passes. But my coffee is still warm. I take everything and go sit down in my chair to wait amidst intermittent tears, but at this point I don't think my body had enough to give to send me back into the abyss.
What's left of the day passes. I have no idea what was done today. I was in and out of focus. Emotions seemed to surface in the tide of my anxiety hangover randomly throughout the day while I sat curled up in my chair.
I was able to get up and help with dinner. I couldn't remember what to do though. It took massive amounts of effort to focus on what the next step was.
Two glasses of wine and I'm in bed. Completely drained. Physically emotionally, mentally. There's still tears. My headache still lingers. Tomorrow will be less so, the next day even less. By Wednesday I should be 100%
It doesn't make sense. I know this. I understand this. There is no mention of what I was so anxious about because I don't know. I don't fucking know. This was the problem. If i can't find the root, I can't dig myself out. I always find the root. 2, 10, 30 minutes of that inner reflection and there it is. The root. Fix it, make a plan to fix it, or realize it's an uncontrollable. A bit of emotional hangover, but it's over with.
No root. No starting point to begin unravelling.
Just the decline and seemingly neverending tunnel downward.
This is a level 9 for me. Hours of peak, hours more of circling the maelstrom, constantly paddling against the tide.
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