I remember this feeling - like I've always known it. Always worrying. Always not feeling good enough. Always panicking. Always on the edge of rage. Always tense and constricted in my chest. It's always been there. I never knew it was there until it wasn't. That's what I noticed very first about the meds I started taking for my postpartum depression - the lack of anxiety. I didn't yell, anymore. Crumbs didn't drive me mad, anymore. Messes were still messes but without the world coming to an end. I could finally deal. I could breathe.
But those meds started making me crazy. I found myself wanting to end. And since I know too much for that to become a reality, I found myself wanting to cut myself. I could see how that would actually be a release for the anguish that was flooding my thoughts. I'm thankful I was still "there" enough to recognize the need to get out while I still had a glimpse of who I was. So, I stopped the meds.
But, the anxiety. I don't think there's a day that goes by I don't cry or feel guilty or want to scream.
I was told in a blessing that if I exercise, if I read my scriptures, I will be healed. I've been told that my whole life.
I've got the scriptures part done. I read them every day. I know I could be better at actually studying them, but I'm reading them and that's more than I've done in years.
The exercise part, though. The time slot during my day for that would be 5:45 am, after I drop my kids off at seminary. All I want to do that early in the morning is crawl back under my weighted blanket that makes me feel safe and held, down. I don't want to stay awake. The rest of my days are literally packed, hour to hour, with going and doing. After the boys go to bed at night, all I want to do is sit and not do or be, anymore.
I keep thinking about my thyroid and how it might actually be the culprit and maybe it has been all my life. I'm on meds for that. But it's only been a month and I've read it can take up to 6-8 weeks for the effect to take place. I think that's an excuse, though. Like I'm avoiding the obvious. I feel like one of the people in the bible who simply had to look up to be healed... and I'm not doing it.
Make the time. That's what my blessing said, quite specifically. Make the time.
I have been trying, today, to have a conversation with myself. I remind myself how awful this feels and how, yes, it would be hard to stay up in the morning and actually do something physical. But it would be better than this. It would make this go away. I would be able to deal, again. I would be able to breathe. I need to make this a habit before my son drives and I don't have to take them to seminary, anymore. I need to make this a habit before it gets dark in the morning and I really won't want to get out of bed until the last minute. I feel so desperate for this to happen but can't seem to find it in myself to take that first step.
But I know the Lord will hold me up. He'll help me take that step if I just let Him. I need to let Him.