My anxiety is back up. While walking with my youngest in the Mei Tai last week, I was panicked. I had a panic attack while walking, which is one of my calming exercises. This only caused me to be anxious about my anxiety. And it was just a mess. I was never so happy to get home.
The anxiety was trivial. I was deathly afraid that someone mowing their lawn was going to kick up a rock and bonk me in the head. Or, even worse, my son. Or, worse yet, the both of us with two separate rocks. In my rush to leave the house that day, I didn’t even grab my cell phone. As I was dwelling on the fact that I wouldn’t be able to call for help if I was laying in the street, bleeding from a rock wound to the head, I started to panic that I didn’t have my cell phone. What if someone kidnapped us? Worse yet, my Husband had left the house with our older son, so no one was even expecting us back at the house in about an hour and so my absence (from the impending kidnapping, of course) would go unnoticed for HOURS! This went on and on. It was a disastrous line of thought, only stopped by walking through the front door of my home.
I’m now panicking about camping next week and for the ten days following. Will my youngest sleep? Will my older son listen? Will my cell phone work from the upstairs window of our cottage if I need to get in contact with my Husband? What if something happens to my Husband while I’m unreachable? (He was recently injured on a fire and so that’s where that anxiety is coming from… at least that has a logical explanation.) Will I pack enough stuff? Will the public washing machines ruin my diapers? (I’d switch to disposables for the ten days but my son’s skin is so sensitive and disposables are so not absorbent enough.) And then, of course, my BABY brother’s wedding is the very next weekend and I have anxiety about that… and not just the wedding (like how I’m going to nurse my eight month old, discretely, while wearing a strapless gown… great.)… but whether these two have enough money to eat.
And so on.
And then there are adoption issues out the wazoo that I can’t even begin to write about.
I just want to turn my mind off for the evening. But even books that have nothing to do with adoption mention it casually, cavalierly. I can’t escape. For a moment. I’m about to stop reading. Stop talking to people. Stop leaving my house. And stop all together! Too much going on!