Not awake and not ready


Have you ever woken up and the instant you’re out of a dream….you know you’re not ready for your day?

That’s me.

I don’t want to go to work. I want to remain in the safety of my bedroom.

If you would’ve told me a year ago that I had the makings of a shut-in, I would have told you that you were crazy.

I had been a few weeks out from surgery. Feeling better but also feeling the effects of my favorite four walls.

I was also fresh from training for a bout and feeling pretty healthy despite the carving.

Today, a year later I see a shell of my former self and have to wonder where that fighter went?

My panic and anxiety cause me to fret about every little knock or ping in my body.

It’s like being alone in a deserted town, in a haunted house in the wee hours of the morning.

You walk through this house like a cat ready to cling to the ceiling with every creek or bump the old house makes.

My body is the creeking house and my mind is the cat.

Things that I would have never considered a threat, like coming in from this crazy heat and feeling clammy, are offenses that indicate that I am very near death.

Am I kidding? I wish!

My body is the catalyst to my torment that my mind unleashes constantly.

I spent about an hour in the tub last night. Looking at the sky and praying. Some FOR relief and help, some for others, some praying for direction and guidance and some thanking Him for the gifts I’ve been given.

I truly believe divine intervention has played a part in my life through the years. I try not to be impatient with this affliction because of my previous assistance. It’s hard when you just want to make it through the day and you’ve only been awake for less than a second.

So, how do we stop tip toeing around ourselves?

Clearly I have no real idea or you wouldn’t be reading this!

I suspect that I need to just go back to the basics.

When the fear of something being wrong wells up (now I’ve decided ill fret that I have diabetes), I’ll remind myself of all of the tests I’ve had. All normal.

I need to make sure I’ve consumed enough water. I haven’t the last few days.

I need to eat every few hours. It really does help you feel more stable.

I need to put the electronics and distractions away. Total quiet for a bit to meditate and pray.

I need to get back to searching for a different job. This one is going to kill me.

I need to take time to appreciate the things that I find worthwhile in this life. Like my family and my dogs.

I need to exercise every day. I don’t now. It does help you feel better.

At one point last year, I realized that I hadn’t had any anxiety in an incredibly long time. I hadn’t had panic attacks yet so we are talking about “normal” anxiety. Skin crawly, tingling in your stomach variety.

I believe it was due to my exercise regime.

I worked out 5-7 times a week and on two days, I worked out twice a day.

I was fit and training for a fight. I was secure. I was healthy and WHEN a flutter or flop in my chest happened, I wondered for a split second if that was a big deal, and then went on with my day.

I never stopped to cry about it. I never sat down and begged for my life to be spared. I shook my head and went on.

Yet, here I am now. Trying to muster the courage to scrape and claw my way through my day.

I have 45 minutes before I need to be there. It may as well be 45 minutes before I’m in front of the firing squad.

Quit? Can’t. Slow economy yields no interest in my resume. I am a single income family as my spouse is still unemployed.

I fear that unemployment benefits will be expiring soon and here we sit.

I also go to school in hopes of a better future. However, I’m struggling there now. I’ve missed a few assignments because last week was so awful I didn’t see that I didn’t complete a writing assignment OR a quiz. Nice job.

So where school was a stress in general, now its a nightmare. I have a low B. I’ve not had that before.

I’d rather panic about school than a strange sensation in my chest. At least I can improve my grade with more focus where as the other causes greater discomfort with greater focus.

42 minutes to the hellhole. I suppose I need to pry myself from my bed…..

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