Maybe I'm Resting ...

As Julie suggested in yesterday's comments, maybe this muted feeling I'm experiencing is my psyche's resting phase. If so, I'm still in it. I'm moving slowly and not doing much (did 2 loads of laundry and a bit of a project and a short walk, however). 

But I've had to up the anti-anxiety meds today. I took a whole pill this morning (well, in 2 halves because I thought a half would handle my anxiety) and a half a pill this afternoon. It's not quite time for my evening one, but it will have to be an entire pill. While part of my psyche may be resting, the other part is almost paralyzed with panic. It is, of course, mostly about money.

I haven't paid my bills. I haven't paid the Estate bills. I haven't looked at my bank balance. I haven't contacted an agency about helping me pay my health insurance. I haven't contacted anyone about bankruptcy (because I overslept by several hours last Saturday and the next open lawyer day is probably not until next month). And I am thinking about looking into food stamps, although I haven't done that yet, either.

There is a pressure inside me, so strong that I feel as if I am about to blow into bits. I want to wrap my arms around myself to hold myself together. Having someone else's arms wrapped around me would be better — isn't being alone so fun? I find that being alone exacerbates my anxiety and panic, whereas having someone who will hold me, or just touch me and who I know will watch out for me and keep me safe relieves those feelings. Yes, I know. I'm supposed to handle it all myself, whether that's because it's the lesson the fucking Universe wants me to learn or it's something I have no control over that I have to accept or it's just what grown-ups do — I don't care.

I'm not communicating with others much right now, which may seem counterintuitive. But this muted phase, which may be partly a resting phase, is also one where I have to keep everything in complete lockdown to keep myself from having one mother of a panic attack and become even less functional than I already am. When I'm locked down this tightly and holding myself so strongly, I can't say anything meaningful to other people, whether it's in person, over email, or in a blog. I can't risk losing control in this particularly situation. Yes, losing control — or letting go of control or the illusion of control — is a good thing in some situations. If I did that now, you'd all hear the screaming. Control is a good thing right now. And I just don't tell people what I'm experiencing, because what could they do? They'd feel uncomfortable. They'd feel powerless and uncomfortable. It would be awkward.

I'm vibrating with these feelings, with the feeling that something is trying to get out, and I continually need to take deep slow breaths to ratchet the intensity back down a notch or two.

I wish I ran. If I ran, or if I had a bicycle and could ride it for a long ways, I would go and go until I was so exhausted I'd have to stop and recover before returning. I feel as if they would quiet what's inside of me; too bad I don't do either. When I was in my 20s, that's what I did. Or sometimes I would walk and walk, and sometimes end up places I would normally not go, such as fifteen feet off the ground. Then I'd have to wait until I accepted that the only way to get down was to do it myself. I don't miss doing that.

This was part two of the Muted/Resting aria. If I don't write anything tomorrow, just say to yourself "ditto."