So, I'm freakin'.

It came to my attention last night that I have spent the past week or so completely freaking out. I'm not usually aware of my own emotions, so things like this escape my notice until my mysterious symptoms get so severe that I have to sit down and figure out what in the hell is going on. This time, we had the weird facial rash (real cute), the inconsolable need to binge, the insomnia, and the activity paralysis on any number of projects. I was lying awake last night, staring at the ceiling, and finally thought "Hrm, I have this weird tightness in the front of my chest and my heart is all thumpy, and... hey, I'm scared and stressed and freaked out!" By God, I am overwhelmed and scared to death. It's nice to know that. It was entirely possible that I was going to go eat a fleet of Twinkies from that fear without ever acknowledging it as such.

I'm still freaking out, which is bad, and now I'm exhausted as well from being up half the night with my spinny brain. I had a very bad time of it for a while there and was seriously considering saying FUCK IT to everything. I didn't want to go anywhere, I didn't want to do anything, I wanted to sit in one place and hide with my books and my television and my cat. I didn't even want to talk to my Hub. Seriously, in retrospect I really should have realized days and days ago that I wasn't feeling constrained by my lifestyle, I was feeling trapped by my life. My reaction to such is to flee and hide and stay very still; I must've been a small prey animal in a former life.

Overwhelmed. Completely overwhelmed. When my Hub came to bed, we spent about an hour talking (and, okay, having me cry on him quite a bit) and it improved matters a bit. I get it into my head sometimes that not only do I have the world on my shoulders, but that nobody else can help out with it, and that if I don't keep it up then everything will crash and everybody will blame me for doing it wrong. I start hoarding up my trust, rationalizing my disinclination to deputize by thinking that I could do it better, that it won't take long, that this person is overworked anyway, that this was supposed to be my responsibility and it's wrong to push it on someone else...

Anyway. That's just not good for me. Not only do I get nothing accomplished because I've frozen in place (and that just makes it worse, because then I'm behind! ack!), but it clearly starts eating away at my health. Pun intended. By the time my Hub got to bed last night I had given myself a stomachache from all the worrying, and-- since he has a long history of doing the same thing-- when I admitted to this, he promptly sent me to the bathroom to take a Pepcid. Good man.

So.

The good news is that last night's breakdown did get me to realize and admit what was going on in my noggin; the bad news is that since I got so little sleep, I overslept and now I have to do cardio when I get home, instead of already having it done. I do not in any way want to contemplate what I've eaten this weekend, or find out what damage I've done to myself, so in the interests of keeping myself on-plan this week I'm giving myself until Friday to weigh in and am filing this weekend's food in the "let bygones be bygones" category. I'm too exhausted to learn from myself, and that was too close of a close call.

I have a tan now, though. Good lord. I've been pure white for years on end, due to avoiding activity, the great outdoors, and clothing that covered me less than your average burka, so my tan astonishes me. I'm also astonishing myself with how muscle-y my arms feel (in spite of the omnipresent fat wobble hiding the definition); I wish it would translate into being able to lift more, though. Hell, I should just kick up the weight next UBWO and go ahead and do it. Tired of being wussy.

Trying to dig out, here at work. My only plan for the day involves being able to see the surface of my desk by the end of it. Ugh.

Anyway, I'm still among the living. I hated our houseguests with a passion, FYI; they weren't bad people, and they did a very good job of taking off and entertaining themselves most of the time they were here, and my Hub did indeed make their care and feeding his primary responsibility, but... bleah. I had nothing in common with them and they pushed my buttons and I wanted very much to kick one of them in the teeth. Mental note: the next time my Hub has guests, I should vacate. Sigh.