Fucking Anxiety Again

I suppose I had a good run. It was actually several weeks of general peaceful alrightness. I am grateful for that. I am grateful that this one will pass.

It’s just so crippling, to just feel this rubbish. Later I will type up the things I scribbled through the dizziness at 2.56am, 3.26am and 4am, and the control I thought I’d managed to have over it, but for now, at 6.30pm, having slept most of the day, my love has just gone off for his night-shift, and I am on my own with a whole night to try to keep mentally well enough to stay out of the skin crawling tingly nastiness of last night.

I have this dull gnawing heavy sadness. What is it even about? My job? My love? My writing? My health? Where’s the sheer joy and excitement about life that I’ve been giggling about for weeks? Just gone. On the week where I’ve been very strictly doing all six mental health practices every day as well. Just random, just, today you will have anxiety. For fuck’s sake.

And when does this wierd heavy heart fluttering end, please? I was going to try to tackle some of the complicated reports that I need to do for work tonight, so that I’d arrive at Monday on top of the game instead of scared of it, but my brain has lowered it’s expectations to simply getting through this day and sleeping through this night please.

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