Anxious, much?

I could probably sit for hours, staring blankly at my computer screen, waiting for my heart to stop feeling like it will beat out of my chest. I don't, because there's work to be done. Mom blog product requests to reply to. Fact sheets to write. Journalists to be pitched.

Staring at the same screen, I feel like I can't breathe when I open my budget in Excel. The end is always the same, I know. Red number upon red number. Equals negative balance. Even if the only thing that I actually bought for myself this month was a pair of glasses. You know, so I can SEE. Because without I am almost legally blind. I am beyond zero and I have cut my expenses. It doesn't make sense. Very few things do.

This is all before I contemplate curling up in a ball under my desk because the anxiety about where I am in my life hits me like a truck. I'm much closer to 30 than to 20, and where am I with my goals? Do I HAVE goals?

For weeks I've fallen into this same routine of letting my anxiety take over. I let it consume me, but only for a few minutes. On the subway. At my desk. Before I fall asleep. Then I try to steady my breathing and forget that I feel like I've been punched in the chest. Push it away. I have to move on. I'll get by saying an mocking "vom" after every sentence instead.

I'd like pancakes now, please. And an increase in medication.