I’ve been laying in bed for hours. My mind won’t stop. My body won’t either. The panic attacks are back. This has to be the part of my disorder I hate the most.
My heart feels like it will explode at any moment. My breathing is fast and shallow. My skin is prickled with goosebumps. I’m covered in a cold sweat. Toes are tapping the bed while my fingers fly across my phone.
I’m scared. I’m paranoid. Everyone is out to get me right now. Everyone wants to hurt me. The adrenaline pumping through my veins is telling me to run. My brain doesn’t know the what where when and why. My brain and body are at odds and it’s not getting me anywhere. And right now I need to go to sleep.
My paranoid imagination has taken over my mind, concocting all kinds of hellish scenarios. The phrase “what if” is being used in the most horrible ways possible. Every time I close my eyes, I’m met with gruesome images and scenarios. When I open them, the voices assault me even more.
I can’t relax. I can’t sleep. So I seek solace in words. Every word that comes out of my head onto paper is one less word being tossed around in my mind. As I type, my eye lids grow heavier, the voices quiet themselves more, the toe tapping turns to rubbing my feet together (a soothing mechanism I’ve had for as long as I can remember), my heart slows, and my breathing deepens. Sleep will be mine soon.
Thank you for being my therapist this evening, morning, whatever. I’m going to dream now. Hopefully they will be pleasant.