I’ve spent the last six weeks utterly devastated that I’ve had such a nasty anxiety flare-up. I’m bitter and angry and frightened and grieving, there’s no doubt about that.
BUT. Big “but”- capital letters “but,” every so often the fog clears a little – albeit painfully briefly – and I have a flash of a thought: maybe I needed this. I thought I was basically recovered, and yes I was – I was functioning well. But I still worried about anxiety every single day. I still often felt anxious alone at home with my son. I still overanalysed my mood. I was getting on with life just fine but still, after two years, I was waiting to be “better.” My post Am I Recovered summed all this up.
I’m low, I’m anxious, I’m struggling right now. And it SUCKS so, so much. But I’m also having regular bloody epiphanies. Bam! Anxiety is not about Caterpillar. Bam! Anxiety is not about sleep. BAM! Anxiety is separate from me: my life is wonderful and anxiety is just a vine weed trying to entwine itself around my wonderful life. It’s separate. It’s not needed. It’s NOT as powerful as I think.
That last one is a biggie I think. It feels important. It feels key. It’s new. It feels like it might be – dare I say it – the answer. It is still just a flash, a quick musing, something that flutters by in a hazy fog of fear and mood analysis and practicing of CBT. But something in my gut tells me if I grab onto that one, if I follow it – it might just end up being my way out of the maze. It might just be the part that was missing until now. It might be why I needed to be back here again. Watch this space I guess.
