Over the weekend I did things to be celebrated. I celebrated them because they were mastery experiences–things that I was afraid of but did anyway. (People who have read some of my other blog entries will know about my anxiety issues) I hadn’t been on a bus by myself (a 2+ hour trip to Boston) in over 15 years. I factually knew there was little danger, and so I spent the time managing anxiety with breathing and strong thoughts.
Between this, staying at my brother’s place, walking everywhere (my elliptically-trained muscles didn’t prepare me for the fatigue I felt a lot of the time), going to see the Red Sox (an amazing game, though the physical seats themselves were and are positively terrible comfort-wise), going out to eat a few times, all in the presence of my brother and my cousin…I was managing a good deal of stress all the time. I did a good job of it too. I didn’t panic.
When I got home Sunday, I was so relieved I started crying a little. Mostly though I was very fatigued but glad I did the weekend.
But right now I feel not real. Fuzzy. Like I’m in a cloudy dream. Anxious, mostly in my tummy (the fact that I strained by back earlier today isn’t helping). My ability to read at much speed and my comprehension is a bit off. (So much for getting some more work done tonight). I think all the stress of the weekend is finally affecting me. I feel like I could either cry all over the place or sleep for 2 days. Thoughts are coming in of “you did too much this weekend”, but they are secondary to the not-realness.
I’m listening to soothing music and working to do things more slowly tonight, like typing this at a slower speed. Deeper breathing too. I have a medication I can take if things get worse, but I’d rather see if I can manage this with skills.
I’m not going to die. This isn’t a panic attack, but I’m experiencing some of the accompanying unreal-ness. It could lead to one. But I’m not going to die.
Closing my eyes and resting between sentences. Slow.