A healthy self-flogging is a good thing

I once had a boyfriend who one day gently placed his palm on the side of my head and said, “Damn, it must be tiring from all the noise in there.” Yes, actually, it’s fucking exhausting if you really must know. For the most part he was a blundering fool, but on the point of the sometimes endless nagging in my head he was spot on to my madness. Over the years I’ve learned to contain the anxiety and can often keep it caged, but there are times when it escapes and runs rampant through my synapses, leaving me wanting to curl up in the corner of the closet where I can nudge my cheek against the back wall and burrow into the darkness.

Today was definitely a day when the noise got out and wreaked havoc in my conscience. I don’t know why, for the most part it wasn’t a bad day at all; work was great, the older two kids had good days at school and Devon had a great time with my mom. It was the time span of when I picked up Loren from his night class and Cass from soccer practice when it all kicked in. This isn’t an unusual time for a panic attack to hit, it’s actually perfect because at the end of the day the children all need to chat about their days and as their voices build so do the ones in my head in competition for brain space. This evening I took the kids out to dinner and as they sat in the booth, each jockeying for talk room, the panic voiced such things as:

Loren will likely be done with high school in two years. And then? Then what is he going to do? College? Ski bum? Tall-T design school? What?
If Loren chooses some sort of schooling, then how am I going to fund that? Yes, I know this one plagues all parents but they aren’t writing this, are they? This is my neurosis. Get your own blog to bitch it out.
Cass is hitting puberty. This means her mood swings will intensify. She already kicks my ass without all those hormones. What will be left of me?
Then in six years Cass will hit college. See the first bullet for that panic button.
How did I hit almost 39 and am still clueless as all hell?
Have I really provided any sort of good example to my kids?
My schedule is suddenly packed and I can’t find the time to swim or ride my bike. When/how will I find time or will I gain back the weight I have been losing? And if I do should I just take to living in my loft for the rest of my days?
Why won’t the noise go away?

I know it’s a pitiful pile of self-indulgent crap. But it started up in my head and simply wouldn’t stop so that by the time we left dinner and headed to the store for some random school supplies, I found my chest hurting from the simple act of breathing. What I need tonight is a big dog, perhaps an over sized yellow lab with a big chest. I would lay my head upon his chest, listen to his heartbeat with my arms wrapped around his soft furry dog neck. That seems like the sort of innocent happiness to chase away the voices.

Tonight the last stress of the day was Devon informing me his brain was telling him to sleep in my bed. I couldn’t bring myself to inform him that my skin felt as though it had been flayed from my finger tips and was being dipped in margarita salt at the mere thought of not having my own space for the evening. I hugged him close and told him to come up in the night is he woke up and his brain was still talking. Poor kid, sounds like he might have the noises, too. Damn.