I am falling a little bit apart. Not on the outside, really, but on the inside. So it The Husband. We both have trouble sleeping. We both tend to avoid doing things we know we have to do. We're a little grumpy with each other.
Stress is an amazing, powerful thing. I don't understand it well, especially how it affects me and how I react to it. There's a part of me that just wants a little pill to help me cope, and another that denies such an easy, temporary out. Still, there are breathing issues still, the feeling of choking, the tightness in my chest. All the thinking, meditating, calming and sublimating I can do isn't solving the problem. Putting it out of my mind -- zilch. Distraction -- temporary.
I just want to move. I just want to go forward. It's time. It's time. It is time.
UPDATE: I finally have a metaphor that works to explain what I'm feeling. I feel as if I am strapped into the car on a rollercoaster, and the car is poised at the very top of the first drop. It's just sitting there, and has been since, oh, let's say May. Everything between last September and May was the chunk-chunk-chunk of climbing to the top. Now I'm just there. I've looked at the view. I've considered what's about to happen. Now I'm just waiting, and the one thought in my head is...
"Let's just get the screaming started, ok? OK?"
Also, last visit to the MD, I asked about the Xanax. He said "I don't think so." That amazed me. They've practically pushed pills into my hands for years, for things I didn't even think I needed pills for, but this time? This time he said "I don't think so."
But it's ok. I have cookie dough.