Of course, I could also have a teensy little lack of proportion due to two nights of uneven, restless, tossing sleep. The 3am Whatifs have been having a field day–or a series of field nights, so to speak–inside my skull.
Everything has always turned out all right before, I shouldn’t worry so much, there are plans in place.
Much of the problem is simply that I’ve been trying to dial back the anxiety meds. This is not helping, because whatever genetic disposition I had toward anxiety was triggered over and over again in the first thirty-odd years of my life and has become, as far as my body is concerned, the status quo. Generous soakings of adrenaline, cortisol, and the attendant chemicals are what my body and brain consider normal despite their bad effects on said body and brain. I can know, intellectually, that nothing is wrong and my body is simply doing something weird, but the physical sensations of terror are so strong it takes a lot of mental energy to keep reminding myself, over and over, that it’s FINE REALLY JUST CALM THE FUCK DOWN.
It irks me that I need medication in order to not have daily panic attacks. It upsets me that I can’t just will myself better, that I can’t just turn my reserves of stubbornness to the problem and force my body and brain to be closer to “normal.” Most other problems in my life have been solved by small (or not so small) and consistent applications of said stubbornness (for example, my career in publishing, ha ha) but this one…this one cannot be. It troubles me.
I’m off for my morning run now–another way to cope with and burn off all those damn stress chemicals. I’ve done a bunch of work already this morning, maybe, if I run hard enough, I’ll be able to sleep tonight.
Oh! Patreon folks, this month’s offerings are up! I hope you enjoy them. There will probably NOT be a reading this month, there’s just not enough interest and I am still struggling to catch up from Frau L’s visit and…several other things.
Okay. I really am heading out the door now. Maybe sweat will solve some of this. It will, at least, make Miss B stop nudging me with her nose whenever I shift in my chair. She can sense my worries, and they worry her, poor thing.
Over and out.