I am sitting here… antsy, ants in my pants. Internally shaking. I know it is coming, but I don’t know when. The ticking time bomb inside of me. When will this geyser blow? When will I have a complete mental breakdown? I can feel it, feel the bubbling within. I’m writhing in my chair. I can’t focus. My breathing is quick and shallow. An anxiety attack that will most likely continue on and off for the rest of the day, for many days.
I woke up this morning with a heavy heart after therapy last night. Hearing Jimmy and Sophia talk about our time with T in the house… hearing them say they missed him. It was helpful after they have cautiously tip-toed around me trying to avoid those stubborn painful Lego pieces of my brain. I needed to hear it. I needed to know I was human with all my emotions. My husband was hopeful, saying he could see the person T was turning in to. He could see our family of 4. He wanted to try to make it work. My anxiety and panic ruined that. Hearing him say he could not handle the 2 kids, his full time job, and me. It was an emotional blade that kept stabbing me with guilt and anger toward myself. Hearing him say he was frustrated because he didn’t know what to say to me, trying to avoid triggering me, knowing logic wouldn’t work. All this I appreciated and only made me love him more but on the flip side made me self loathe more. Hearing him say that right after T left the house when he was hoarding all of the toys and stuff into T’s old bedroom was painfully hard, sent more heartache. But I wanted to know. I needed to know. I wanted to know he felt something. I wanted to know that they both felt something.
It isn’t just the heavy heart. I can’t stop moving. My fingers keep wiggling. Fists clenching. I keep slithering around. My heart is rapidly beating. I know it is coming. Something I desperately fear, the mental breakdown. Unsure of what it will bring as I already spend most days with anxiety attacks and tears.
I need to subside my fears, to disconnect the ticking clock but my incredible amount of guilt lies in the way. I know what I need to do. I need to call in sick. I need a Mental Health day. I need a day that breaks this deja vu routine. A day where I put myself first. But, my guilt is strong. Guilt… Stigma… I’d feel guilt because I am not physically ill. No fever, no headache, no vomiting. What some would view as a day of freedom, even call me a liar, although that day would most likely consist of me in bed maybe taking a hike. What am I so afraid of? Work knows my history. My brain is ill and at times it needs to rest, yet I don’t allow it to. As if a different outcome would arise this time. As if it would all just go away. I am stupid to think that. My illnesses have only gotten worse with age. Come on Stephanie, why would you think this time would be different?!
Tick, tick, tick… still can’t focus, still shaky… tick, tick, tick… Go home Stephanie, you need the break… tick, tick, tick