Afraid in the dark

I woke up this morning at 4AM. I ran my hand over the soft blue sheets and nuzzled into my new pillowcase. I wake up nearly instantly, and consciously decide whether to be drowsy and doze or be productive and alert right away. Normally at 4:00, I’d go for the former – relax and ease into the day within the next couple hours.

Though I’m functional – I do my job, have friends, behave in a somewhat social manner – I’m pretty sure there’s some glitch in my brain chemistry. I’m sometimes different at night than I am during the day. It can be very subtle, but when worry is going to take over – make me whimper in despair and frantically search for any solution – it will happen in the darkness. And it happened this morning at 4.

It’s rare – an episode this severe and terrifying. But it’s happened enough that I can recognize it, understand that it’s not real – the sick feeling will soon ease and I’ll be fine, so I just try to cope through the panic. So when I started to gasp for air, found myself pacing the room because I was overwhelmed by a sense of wrongness, I tried to soothe. Let reason try to comfort this sick panic.

During the day, change seems good. I like small alterations in routines or in how furniture is arranged. I was thrilled with my new bedclothes. The smooth sheets and fluffy comforter – both in muted shades of the colors I’d used before. I am, after all, a creature of habit. But I found myself staring at the bed as I paced, feeling miserably off balance by even the slight change in how my bed looked. It could be viewed as an indication of all the things in life that I could alter with harmless intentions, setting off some sort of ripple effect that would rock the foundation of my entire world.

I took a deep breath, and sat down on the bed, running my hand over the soft flannel comforter. It was fine. I was OK. I’d just wait until tomorrow, and if I wanted to change the bedding back to the darker blue sheets and deeper gold comforter, I could do that. Everything was going to work out.

But then I thought of going to the guest room to take the gold comforter out of the chest of drawers where I’d stored it. Well, former guest room. I planted Sprout in there since it’s the one room I really don’t use, and he was doing fine when I said good night. But I didn’t want a cat. I want a guest room! What if I have guests?! Now there’s a cat in the guest room – litter box, food, water. I never said I wanted a cat – hadn’t thought about it or considered the ramifications. What if Sprout gave Chienne some disease?

I realized I was spinning. Had done the exact same thing when I found Chienne, though the process was certainly different. With my precious canine, I had carefully deliberated over getting a pet midway through grad school. Went over budgets. Carefully mapped out the time I’d be able to spend with her. Had to wait until my lease ran out before moving to a pet-friendly apartment away from campus. Then I pored over petfinder for hours. Read descriptions of breeds. Filled out questionnaires. Talked to shelter employees. Narrowed it down to 2 dogs, learned the Chienne had 10 days left to live, and selected her. I picked her up the day I moved into my apartment and slept with her on the floor because she wouldn’t stop shaking. The change was hard for her too.

Amidst all this planning, and surrounded by careful lists of questions to ask, items to purchase, people to call to make appointments for vet visits and obedience classes, I panicked. I remember sitting in the dark years ago – forced out of bed because I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything positive. I didn’t know how to take care of a dog! What if she smelled bad? Got hair all over everything I owned? What if she bit someone? Or if she didn’t like me? I didn’t want to do this. Would call the shelter tomorrow and tell them I didn’t want her. Couldn’t take her. Everything could stay the same. I’d be fine.

I woke up the next morning with absolutely no desire to give up my claim on the pretty puppy. I did want her. Could have her. I loved her already. So why the panic? And I realized that it’s just something I do sometimes at night. Think I’m useless. Incapable. Weak. Unlovable. Ugly. This miserable being. And I can’t see out of it very well at all. Change - big or small - seems impossible. I did it with my choice of graduate schools. The dog. My house. Jobs after grad school. I pick something, am happy with it, start planning for it, then freak the hell out.

So I told myself that I could let the cat go. Simply open the door and shoo him away. But I had to wait until the morning to do it. I use the same trick when dealing with drunk people, actually. Agree completely with anything they say, but gently insist that they wait to act on what certainly are brilliant plans. "Of course you can buy a purple conversion van. We'll go look first thing tomorrow. After you sleep." "Yes, that man is evil and your plan for revenge is of high quality. We'll begin with the vengeance as soon as you wake up in the morning." That strategy helped for me momentarily, but I just bounced to the next worry.

I couldn’t move in another year! I still love The Plan, but that part is insane! This job is perfect – absolutely ideal to do what I want to do. I can’t do anything anywhere else! The very thought is absurd. I’m not all that talented.

And what if I can’t sell my house? Because I haven’t had the carpets professionally cleaned. Hadn’t landscaped the backyard at all. Nobody would want to live here. I’d have to pay rent somewhere else as well as my mortgage here. But that’s assuming I could even get another job. I probably can’t. There’s no way I could run a lab! Write grants! Support students! I should leave the academic world completely. And do… something. What if I can’t figure out what to do? Can’t make money to pay for a place to put all my pretty stuff?

And the blog! All of a sudden there are all these people reading it. And I liked my new friends until a bunch of new people showed up at once! I can't even keep track of where everyone's from and how they're finding me. What if they don’t understand what I’m trying to say? I’m offering all this information, but what if it’s misinterpreted? I write about personal topics on my blog - offer my thoughts for the judgement of others – however benevolent that judging is. And I do care what people think – would rather they not think of me at all rather than with derision or pity. I’m fine, after all. I should stop writing online. There are just too many people reading. And sometimes I'm kidding - making myself sound worse than I really am for some kind of dramatic effect. Other times I change my mind - read something old and shake my head at myself. This isn’t good - the stories and secrets and thoughts have somehow accumulated and seem huge. I'm far too vulnerable here.

So shaking and shaken, I crawled back in bed and tried to relax. It would all pass – I just had to get through until morning, then I’d be fine. I was drumming my fingers on the mattress, trying to focus, retain some semblance of control, then stood up and walked toward the bathroom. Quickly turned on the shower as hot as it would go, then got inside. Let the heat, spray and sound ease my thoughts as calm descended. I stood there for 10 minutes or so, mind blessedly quiet. I stepped out timidly, ready to retreat into the water again if I got scared again, but was breathing easily. So I dressed quickly, noticing how cool the house had become, and slipped between my new sheets, scooted closer to sleeping Chienne and closed my eyes. Eased into a gentle dream I can’t quite remember until it was time to wake just before 7:00.

My head hurt all day – I took Advil, then Excedrin four hours later, then Tylenol after I got home from work. Each dulled the throbbing misery, but didn’t take it away. I’ve felt constant pressure – physical pressure behind my eyes. But I’ve been content. I made my bed and admired the soft colors and didn't feel a single tug to bring back the old bedding. Took Sprout to the vet and ensured his health. Went to work and accomplished some tasks before sitting in meetings. Felt capable and at ease as I moved through my professional day. I have knowledge, skill and contacts - I'll find a new job when I need one. Shopped for my animals (because, yes, apparently I have a cat.) after work. Sprout – who will not be released into the wild – has a cat condo, good clumping litter, Cat Chow with a big airtight storage container. I took off his flea collar and ignored Chienne’s desperate whining at the door in favor of listening to his purring as he wound around my feet as I arranged his room, then sat on the bed to stroke his soft fur. And now I’m writing for the blog I wanted to abandon just last night. I very much appreciate that some of you take the time to read. To spend a few moments of your day considering me and whatever bit of personal information I decide to share. While you're not obligated to read or comment, neither do I wish for you to leave.

It’s strange as I consider it now. A very weird behavior that could be indicative of some mental problem. But I can control it – or at least the extent to which I act upon those feelings. But while it’s happening? It’s overwhelming. Terrifying. Misery to an extent that nerves turn to panic. I'm unable to breathe and calm myself though I know the thoughts aren’t representative of how I really feel. It’s most unpleasant. And I wanted to tell you about it because I got past it. Functioned just fine today, and hope I have a nice, long time before such a thing happens again. But when change reaches some critical mass, I tend to lose it - always at night - before reaching easy acceptance of those same changes the next day.

And if you're going to suggest therapy, I'll likely just smile at you. After all, even if I ended up going to see someone or taking medication, I suspect I'd wake up some night, trading peaceful sleep for panicked worry, thinking of how scary it was to take steps to alter my mental health.