We have a set date for FL. I am trying hard not to think about it, but it is there in my peripheral vision. All it takes is a quick glance and my heart rate spikes and I break out in a sweat. I know I am staring at my panic. It is all around me in a split second. I chase it away and think about something else. It comes back. Not much I can do. I have to go. Think I might have to keep myself sedated the entire time. I am not even sure how I am going to get myself on a plane.
It wasn’t ever a problem traveling, and leaving. I would go wherever. Going to dinner wasn’t anxiety provoking. Flying halfway around the world was an adventure. I have seen a lot of the world. This shouldn’t be all that difficult. Yet it is. I don’t know when I changed so much. I have. I don’t like this me. It is hard to not think of this me as stupid and weak. How fucking hard can it be to leave for 24 hours? I want to smack myself and say get a grip. But this panic is so very real. I can only sit still and fight for some control. Just turning my mind is an exercise in extreme will power. I can’t shrug it off. I doubt smacking myself upside the head would do much. I know it isn’t weakness. My judgmental nasty inner critic is the one throwing out that term. It is an inner battle to see who is stronger. Will I just give in and sit still. Desperately trying to settle my racing heart. Will I do it anyway and face the awful anxiety. There doesn’t seem to be much of a middle ground. Though once I have gotten past the anticipatory anxiety, and the sheer panic at getting myself going, I can usually find my footing. It is hellish getting there. I know I can do it. I don’t want to. There is a huge difference between can’t and won’t. I do not have an option. I have to find a way to tame my panic and do it anyway.
It won’t be pleasant. Nobody ever said it would be.