Remember how George W. had that terror warning system that told us where the national threat level was at? That's what came to mind this week in regards to my anxiety. Anxiety Level: High. Scratch that: It's super high. What's higher than high? It's a red alert kind of ordeal.
I feel terrible.
I'm at a loss in regards to why my anxiety is through the roof. I filter all my emotions through my stomach, but as I tried to think of what might be causing me stress, I kept coming up blank.
Work is going well. My house is uncluttered and relatively clean, thanks to a Monday-night all-family on deck dirt smackdown. I've been eating well (no three-ingredient mints or chips for me). Eric is fine, the girls are fine, even Skilly is fine. Things are fine.
So why is my stomach all DANGER DANGER DANGER?
I have no idea.
Maybe there's nothing to analyze. My first instinct when things go south is to try to figure out why. Maybe there is no why. Maybe this is just what it's like to be me. Maybe I'm just anxious because I am.
The dumb thing is that, as I've written this (the whole ten minutes that took), I've started to feel better. So either the meds are kicking in (a couple hours late, the jerks) or writing helps. It's probably both.
Hey, have you guys heard about the gut brain? Here's some junk I found on the internets that explains all that:
I think it's rather fascinating, and it makes me feel better in a general kind of way, like I'm not really crazy, it's just that I have a highly developed gut brain. Although, irony, as I was researching, I started to feel worse. And now that I've stopped, I feel okay(ish) again.
Whatever, I guess. My stomach sucks.