Last night, I slept like a pancake – a side effect of my anxiety and rapid cycling. My thoughts flew around in my head as though they were on broomsticks. I sat up every so often and watched the clock count down to 6:45 a.m.; I wake up at 7. Fuck.
Work was a blur. I was so busy I didn’t even notice my anxiety or remember yesterday’s depression. Whether or not that’s a good thing, I’ll have to figure out later. In between patients, I could feel myself dragging my ass due to lack of restful sleep. I made sure to leave at quitting time; I’m not trying to overload myself like the past few weeks. I’ve sworn off 11 to 13-hour days; I just can’t and won’t do it in this state anymore.
I feel my body responding to the stress like it did when I was younger. More migraines, more fibromyalgia flare-ups, more panic attacks – all symptoms that had been controlled and almost non-existent since I graduated from college. Funny, I was under less stress in graduate school than I am right now.
I can make sense of someone else’s life, someone else’s pain or triumphs, but little insight into my own. I guess that’s why I’m not my own counselor.
A part of me feels judged being on that side of the desk; a part of me doesn’t care because I need to get my feelings out or they will turn on me and spill over onto other facets of my life.
I guess I’d rather deal with whatever judgment exists (or I’ve imagined) and get my shit together than ruin whatever good things I’ve managed to create out here.