Slowing Down the Hampster Wheel

It’s 7:00am on a Sunday morning, and I’m uncharacteristically sitting up in bed writing a blog post.  I haven’t been sleeping well, so this morning instead of fighting it, I got up and soaked in a hot tub.  My whole body ached through the night, due to my usual over-training, so the bath was a welcomed treat.   I lasted about 10 minutes in the tub before I was drying myself off, sweeping the bathroom floor, starting up a load of laundry, tidying up th living room, and just when I was about to sit down and start my school work, I stopped.

What the hell is wrong with me?  Don’t answer that I already know the answer; my questions was figurative.

When I realized I was on autopilot “just doing” I took a moment and changed the direction of my morning.  I’m not going to start today in a big rush to get shit done.  Instead, I’m going to stay in bed and write.  Studying will follow, but at least I am doing something I enjoy first.  It occured to me, however, that I am always in a hurry.  I need to get this done, or that done, there’s shopping to do, a workout to fit in, the dog needs a walk, the house is a mess, etc etc etc, yet I never seem to be able to get it all done.  I compare myself to what looks like perfection in other peoples lives, and I don’t stack up.  I get so overwhelmed that by the time evening rolls around, I’ve exhausted myself.  ANXIETY DISORDERS SUCK.

Mindfullness it so difficult for me.  I don’t realize what I am doing most of the time; I just GO GO GO.  When I have done enough in the day, and I can mentally check off a list that satisfies my expectations, I numb myself.  I pour myself a glass or two, or three, of wine, and I veg in front of the TV before I pass out for bed.  I hate that I do it, and I’ve been successful many time of going months without a drink.  I don’t drink to get drunk; I hate being drunk, but I drink to shutdown.  Nothing else seems to slow me down.  If I didn’t have a glass of wine, I’d just keep spinning — GOING.

This Thursday I have my appointment with the psychologist, and I’m hoping to learn some better coping skills.  I’ve learned and tried many before, and sometimes they work for a short spell, but I always end up back at the same place.  It’s pretty typicall for someone with anxiety to suffer from perfectionism, but knowing it doesn’t change it.  All I see in myself is everything that’s wrong.  This morning, however, I will take a minute to love and accept myself the way I am.  F*ck the endless list of chores; this morning I BLOG.