My anxiety has been astronomically high lately. I’m on edge about jobs, living spaces, the future, the past, and everything in between. My familial tremors in my arms have been worse the last few days than they have been in quite a while. They are almost at the rate/duration when I was diagnosed with them. Are they related to my anxiety/depression/stress? No idea- my neurologist at the time said to just have a drink when one started, and that should take care of it. My family is full of functional and not so functional alcoholics. My grandparents owned a bar at one point, one of my uncles ultimately died from his drinking. That’s not advice a doctor should give so lightly. So I just deal with them as they come. It only slows down my typing, makes it hard to chop/cut things up at times but otherwise, it’s just a nuisance. But it makes me self-conscious. I still don’t want to be the freak who can’t always control my limbs.
So as I get ready to start a lot of new things, I know I can’t hide it forever. I know coworkers will see and ask questions. That brings a whole new level of anxiety. I don’t like being the center of attention or put on the spot about something that’s happening to me. That anxiety creeps into everything. Is moving really such a good idea? Are you sure that this is the area you want to be in for a little while? You claim to want stable but have you looked at yourself in the mirror- the only thing stable about yourself is the weight you are and the predictability of the fact you’re going to get hurt again one way or the other.
I try to keep myself together and strong for the people around me. But the mask is slipping. I don’t know how much longer I can be like this. I’ll keep trying until it either weighs me down to where I can’t do it anymore or until the chaos passes and things get better.
I keep dreaming that I’m falling into a dark, wet pit. In that pit is a monster I can’t see. I only hear it. It occasionally whispers menacingly at me in a language I don’t understand but from the tone, it makes me scared. I yell for help, hoping someone will walk by and hear my pleas, clawing at the dirt and root bound walls. I scream until my throat is raw, and no sounds come out. Suddenly, there’s the sound of something being dragged through the muck and water, before something tosses the large rectangular box at my feet.
The creature snarls, “get in the box” before kicking the lid off at me. I find a renewal of my voice and scream some more as the muddy water splashes onto me, covering me in more filth. The creature sighs, “Why do the pretty one’s struggle?”
My vision goes black, and I wake up panicked in the box. I beat on it with my fists, and kick with my feet. It doesn’t budge. The thuds of my arms and legs making contact are the only sounds I hear. The top end of the box lifts slightly, as I began to get drug through this hell to god knows where. I know there’s no airflow into the box, so if I can’t get out soon I’ll just be dying one way or the other. I try to calm myself, without taking deep breaths. I don’t know how long I’m being dragged through this place. It seems to go on and on. And that part of my dream just goes and never seems to end.
Now I have no idea what to make of my dreams, let alone the other things my brain throws at me. All I know is if I go the rest of my life without having that dream again, it’ll be too soon. The only problem with that thought? I’ve had it the last 4 nights in a row.
Maybe tonight’s dreams will be better. And if they aren’t there’s always some kind of hope out there right?