For no apparent reason it feels like my heart has dropped down into my stomach, it's a physical feeling definitely some kind of sensation inside me. This is the sensation that warns me something is coming, an unsettling warmth spreading in the pit of my stomach. Something is wrong, there is something I should be worrying about but what?
My brain starts to trawl through my memory files. I picture this like those drawers that used to be in the library, the long drawers with all the little reference cards. Thousands of cards and my brain is flicking through each card, one at a time a memory floats into the air and scatters in a shambles on the floor of my mind.
I don't know what exactly is wrong, my brain hasn't found the problem yet and my body is troubled. The burning is still in my stomach and my breathing is changing. I seem to be breathing faster but the air isn't travelling to where it should be. Am I starting to suffocate? Why can't my brain find what the problem is so I can't rationalise it away?
My breath is coming along faster and faster, my brain is hurting aching throbbing. Sounds around me are distant, like background music not part of what's happening but kind of still there.
I'm awake, my eyes are open but I can't really see. A kind of blackness is blurring my vision.
Could it be death? Is death coming for me? It must be. Ohhhhhh no... My heart is racing so much faster, I'm trying to breathe trying to suck that air in. If I take great gulps of air then maybe I'll get enough into my lungs to keep me alive. I cannot die. I cannot leave my children, it's not right or fair to them. The babies father does not penetrate their world, he does not exist to them. Someone will find him, he'll be tracked down and they'll be placed into his care. He's a drug addict, he's violent, he's not who they need to be raising them. They'll never remember me, my eldest boy will - kind of. How can I die and leave them? It's just not fair. I'm sweating now, my palms layered with moisture. Tears are filling up my eyes. I'm dying. Snot is running down my top lip. Would they be better off without me?
I let down my Superhero when I got post natal depression. His father was able to take him from me. He now lives an unsettled life as his father breaks up with then gets back together with his girlfriend. Over and over my boy is moved in and out of this woman's house. His life is unstable and I haven't been able to bring myself to drag my son through the court system again, especially when his father has told him that if the Superhero lives with me he'll have no one - after all, "Mum has the babies but I only have you!"
My boy has had his brain fucked with too much by his father, he needs his Mumma.
It's all messy, such a mess. I can't suck in enough breath, I can't stop the tears, I can't stop the thoughts, I just can't anything.
My Slayer needs me, he needs me more than my other two kids in a way. I ripped him right off when he was born and that ache in my heart that is always there intensifies.
And my baby girl, my birthday thief, my answer to whether or not heaven is real... How can I go ahead and die when my three beautiful loves need me?
They need a Mum who isn't suffocating, crying, snotting. Make it stop, make it stop. I'm on my knees, trying and trying.
If I'm lucky he's around, he says to stop. He says to settle my breathing. Go slow, stay calm. You're ok, ok.
When it's all done maybe 5 minutes has passed, maybe a few hours. I'm tired, so tired. Exhausted. It feels like I've run a massive marathon, my body aches and I just need sleep. I can't sleep. I'm a Mum, I have to keep moving along. Baths to bed had, dinner to be made. Sometimes I just sit with one of my babies, hold them on my lap with my arms around them squishing them until the little wriggly worms run away.
It's happening more these days, 2016 has been a bit of a big year. I can't concentrate. I used to be a big reader, I always had at least two books going. I can't remember the last time I read more than one chapter let alone one entire book. I used to find writing a cathartic experience, I used to write almost regularly on this blog but not so much anymore. My university studies are a struggle and that fills me with immense sadness too, I thoroughly enjoy it mostly. My weight is suffering, going up and up and sometimes down again but mostly up.
But I'm trying, I'm trying to help myself. I'm trying to beat the anxiety, beat the panic attacks. I am now having counselling, I am now trying to share my stuff with my friends more. If nothing has changed by the time June ends I'll have to have my medication changed.
Eventually, I'll be ok.
My brain starts to trawl through my memory files. I picture this like those drawers that used to be in the library, the long drawers with all the little reference cards. Thousands of cards and my brain is flicking through each card, one at a time a memory floats into the air and scatters in a shambles on the floor of my mind.
I don't know what exactly is wrong, my brain hasn't found the problem yet and my body is troubled. The burning is still in my stomach and my breathing is changing. I seem to be breathing faster but the air isn't travelling to where it should be. Am I starting to suffocate? Why can't my brain find what the problem is so I can't rationalise it away?
My breath is coming along faster and faster, my brain is hurting aching throbbing. Sounds around me are distant, like background music not part of what's happening but kind of still there.
I'm awake, my eyes are open but I can't really see. A kind of blackness is blurring my vision.
Could it be death? Is death coming for me? It must be. Ohhhhhh no... My heart is racing so much faster, I'm trying to breathe trying to suck that air in. If I take great gulps of air then maybe I'll get enough into my lungs to keep me alive. I cannot die. I cannot leave my children, it's not right or fair to them. The babies father does not penetrate their world, he does not exist to them. Someone will find him, he'll be tracked down and they'll be placed into his care. He's a drug addict, he's violent, he's not who they need to be raising them. They'll never remember me, my eldest boy will - kind of. How can I die and leave them? It's just not fair. I'm sweating now, my palms layered with moisture. Tears are filling up my eyes. I'm dying. Snot is running down my top lip. Would they be better off without me?
I let down my Superhero when I got post natal depression. His father was able to take him from me. He now lives an unsettled life as his father breaks up with then gets back together with his girlfriend. Over and over my boy is moved in and out of this woman's house. His life is unstable and I haven't been able to bring myself to drag my son through the court system again, especially when his father has told him that if the Superhero lives with me he'll have no one - after all, "Mum has the babies but I only have you!"
My boy has had his brain fucked with too much by his father, he needs his Mumma.
It's all messy, such a mess. I can't suck in enough breath, I can't stop the tears, I can't stop the thoughts, I just can't anything.
My Slayer needs me, he needs me more than my other two kids in a way. I ripped him right off when he was born and that ache in my heart that is always there intensifies.
And my baby girl, my birthday thief, my answer to whether or not heaven is real... How can I go ahead and die when my three beautiful loves need me?
They need a Mum who isn't suffocating, crying, snotting. Make it stop, make it stop. I'm on my knees, trying and trying.
If I'm lucky he's around, he says to stop. He says to settle my breathing. Go slow, stay calm. You're ok, ok.
When it's all done maybe 5 minutes has passed, maybe a few hours. I'm tired, so tired. Exhausted. It feels like I've run a massive marathon, my body aches and I just need sleep. I can't sleep. I'm a Mum, I have to keep moving along. Baths to bed had, dinner to be made. Sometimes I just sit with one of my babies, hold them on my lap with my arms around them squishing them until the little wriggly worms run away.
It's happening more these days, 2016 has been a bit of a big year. I can't concentrate. I used to be a big reader, I always had at least two books going. I can't remember the last time I read more than one chapter let alone one entire book. I used to find writing a cathartic experience, I used to write almost regularly on this blog but not so much anymore. My university studies are a struggle and that fills me with immense sadness too, I thoroughly enjoy it mostly. My weight is suffering, going up and up and sometimes down again but mostly up.
But I'm trying, I'm trying to help myself. I'm trying to beat the anxiety, beat the panic attacks. I am now having counselling, I am now trying to share my stuff with my friends more. If nothing has changed by the time June ends I'll have to have my medication changed.
Eventually, I'll be ok.