Anxiety, for me, kicks in high gear right as I lay down in bed. It’s a nightly occurrence. Severity ranges and rarely is it absent. I hate it.
I am trying to be friends with it. Accept it. Acknowledge it.
But it’s hard.
I do my best to refocus. But it’s hard to sidestep when I can feel my heart racing. A racing heart invites adrenaline. Adrenaline is not what a tired body needs.
The conflict between the two is aggravating and staying calm becomes a challenge. My mind panics and calculates all of the unfinished business of the day.
Stupid things. Big things. Then it moves into things that may never happen. Things that will never happen. And if I don’t stop it, it starts to move backward. Things I’ve done. Things I’ve said. Things I’ve endured. Things I’ve regretted.
A tornadic swirl consumes thoughts and my accelerated heart rate begins to pound. Heavy hard beats inside my chest and static inside my head.
And it can make me sick. Physically ill. Nauseous. I try to cut it off at the knees.
And sometimes it works. And sometimes it doesn’t.
An unhealthy brain will tell a thousand lies. An anxiety attack is depleting. The energy it burns is vexing. This is the part of anxiety I have to tolerate. The part I don’t like. Not that I like any of it. But I think having it can have some benefits. It pushes me to do better. Be better. In all things.
Even though I am enough as I am.