I’m a bit through other. My confidence has vanished, in the blink of an eye. My anxiety lept to fill the vacuum.
It’s really rather inconvenient, as I’ve things to be doing. I made lists. There are people to be contacted, to be persuaded. There are articles to write. Is that the problem? Have I bitten off more than my psyche can chew? Do I need to settle my expectations until the tablets kick in?
I want to be doing things. I don’t want to be sitting at home, weeping about nothing. (The weeping hasn’t started yet, but the desire to eat everything in sight is resurfacing. It may just be a matter of time.)
I’m easily bruised. I like to think of myself as a hardy soul, but I’ve gone all delicate little flower. A Victorian lady, swooning on a chaise longue, with a furrowed brow and scented handkerchief.
Yesterday I did ironing and walking and spending time with people and feeling normal-ish. When I got home, I panicked. This morning I was up and about and functioning, and then the anxiety kicked in again. Dammit world, what’s going on here? This is really not helpful. It better not last.
There’s only one thing for it: go and sit outside for the 3 mins that the sun is out, and try looking for that self possession again later.