Wow. Talk about a wall.
I did, earlier today, talk to my landlord about painting a wall, but that’s not the wall I hit.
At my best, I wonder if my symptoms are simply the burnout I have been learning many of my past episodes of depression to be. The semantics of anxiety turning into the inherent overstimulating trauma of a life where silence is non-existent and the demands on body and mind are multitudinous. The psychology media cries so loud about such connections between trauma, ADHD & Autism; if they are crying wolf, the reveal will await a new acronym, and new school of thought.
At my worst…
Today was a good day. Not all that stressful, couple of errands, boardgames and a bit of work while sitting at a local café, then home to eat leftovers and do a bit more work. Home to eat leftovers, and while I’m waiting for the rice to cook, everything shuts down. Wall meet human.
I didn’t see the sun set.
Headache. Growing from a niggling twinge to all encompassing ache. This isn’t a migraine. This isn’t a toothache. I have one of those, too, and there’s no comparison. When it happens, I’m listening to an audiobook while processing duplicate references in Endnote. The first has 90%-95% of my attention, if not more. I zone out. Miss a chapter. It’s an important chapter, a roisterous dash to save the world. I decide to take a break.
Lying back on the couch, the light hurts. I restart the chapter and cover my head with a blanket. There’s an earthquake machine beneath Yellowstone, the world in peril. The next thing I know, the rice cooker switches to standby. I’ve missed the chapter again, and more. I can’t move.
I can pause the book on my phone, but I can’t move.
I am aware of everything. This could be a panic attack, but if it is, I am disassociating. My thoughts are sluggish. The headache has spread to my body. It is as if every nerve ending is becoming self aware. My limbs are heavy and I wonder when/if/who/how someone would find me. I can no longer even form/send/comprehend a message.
Somehow, sleep comes, shallow, feverous. I am drawn into the story I’m no longer listening to, into a house and home that is this reality yet not. It has few of the issues, none of the pain. I clear the path for a bus through the living room. Every now and then I am awakened by sounds, and fade back into fever.
I wake around midnight. Foggy, the headache has returned to a dull throb and my nerve endings are humming in dull harmony. I can move and do so, struggling to my feet and turning the rice cooker off. Preparing a hydrolyte concoction. Contemplating a record of the event.
That way 30 minutes ago.
I am sitting on top the wall now, knowing myself to be eggshell awaiting horses, not sure if there is anything left in me to shatter. This is the waking fever, the new constant.
This is not burnout, anxiety, or depression. I know those intimately. Have developed strategies. Mindfulness, scheduling, dancing to burn off the nervous energy.
This is torment.
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