Tonight’s surprise 2am blog post is brought to you by crippling fear of the future, and a poorly planned 11pm workout.
Insomnia is a bitch. The to-do lists that run through your head, the what ifs, could haves and fears that give you the cold sweats. The never-ending mantra of things running through your head that make you feel the need to get up and pace the hallway just to expel some of your energy— but you’re trying to sleep, so that’d be counter productive, right?
The best part of it is that when you try to actually catalogue your thoughts, you realize this is all utter nonsense. That the thing that is stressing you could be totally bullshit or the biggest decision of your current being. Either way, all scenarios just cycle. Your wants, your needs, your doubts, your hopes, your plans. The ifs continue to pop in and out of your racing thoughts while you try to picture sheep or count clouds or whatever the hell Mom told you to do when you were 9 and didn’t know what the word “insomnia” was.
But that’s the best part of your anxiety brain– even if you tell it that you’re just freaking for no reason, the little scared goblin of stress is still crying and holding it’s sides, stirring the pot of your thoughts despite your attempt to control them.
Because they do cycle. Things ping around in your head with no rhyme or reason, like a game of super not fun pinball. Even if it’s just one thought, bouncing through the rest of your daily brain functions, causing all the normal to move around it so quickly that you can’t make sense of it all. Catching up on emails and going to work tomorrow is so normal, but when those plans bounce off your anxiety, suddenly everything is overwhelming, and moving too fast. Like the red sock in the load of whites, but the washing machine door is stuck shut so you just have to sit and watch while all your clothes turn pink.
You can repeat your “calming” mantra, play your relaxing apps or videos, but the excess energy in your legs and the feeling that your heart is beating too fast (it isn’t) or that you can’t breath (you can) is too distracting. So you just lay in bed and listen to your thoughts cycle, and count the passing time by how many times you have to remind Netflix that you’re still watching.
Or you can write this totally self-serving blog post to try to help you put words to your feelings, and hope that it helps. Did it help? I don’t know. But it certainly passed some time while I waited for the Xanax to kick in.
PS. This was weirdly personal, but this is a big part of my life. Much more so than make-up or anything else I write on here. And if Huffington Post is correct in their statistics, basically all adults suffer from anxiety. So you get me, right? Right? Good. Okay, bye.