It was 12pm on Tuesday. Lying in bed, I felt a sense of relief wash over me. I accomplished the one thing I had to do – take Gracie to the vet – and now I could relax.
This week I had appointments on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday. Pondering my schedule late Sunday night, I became very anxious. “Can I handle being out every day?” “What if I’m away from home and have a bad LDK episode?” “What if I’m too sick to leave the house?” “What if, what if, what if?”
Logically, though, I knew I should be able to handle the obligations. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let anyone (or anybun) down.
I hate second guessing myself. You see, I’ve always thrived in stressful situations. But now I can barely handle calling my bank to dispute a fee. My heart accelerates, my hands shake, and I feel short of breath. When I realize what’s happening, I get even more upset that my body won’t cope like it should!
It’s ridiculous. I disgust myself, to be honest. Sure I’ve pumped a lot of chemicals and other biological meddlers into my body. I expect there to be physical side effects.
But the revelation that my mind has been impacted, in any way, is absolutely heartbreaking.