I feel as though I am on a water slide, with no means of grabbing the sides, and I'm going up, down, through tunnels (some long ones) and occasionally getting splashed as the carriage moves so swiftly that you can only just make out people's faces, and places, as you pass by.
My diary is packed with things to do. The slots on my 'to do' list are filled and then struck through but there always seems to be the same amount pending. I get it done, mostly, somehow. The unnecessary things get left aside, they don't even make the list. The other stuff is a variety of nice and not-so-nice but all must be met head-on.
I know, for example, that kung fu must be prioritised, as it brings me sleep and fitness at levels I've never previously known, and I love doing it and have a few friends there. Work, well, that's just work (but I do love my job, so that's OK, too). Socialising slips in as well, as it tends to be with a mixture of people from my sporting and working lives.
The not-so-nice is another matter. That doesn't have to be booked in. It just settles in and makes itself comfortable at times. It's to do with insomnia, stress (that has caused me to grind my teeth so badly that one must come out) and suchlike. I am still on medication for the insomnia (albeit at a reduced rate), I don't drink much alcohol now (when I did a few weeks ago, I didn't sleep a wink), and my diet is pretty healthy. So, despite all the negatives of not sleeping and its effects, I have picked up some pretty good ways of coping – exercise and eating well. Sometimes, when I wake, my eyes are puffed up and the area around them is dark, but at other times, I feel and look reasonably well.
But, like one day this week, when I may have looked OK to those around me, there can in fact be a volcano brewing underneath the surface. I couldn't breathe. I felt faint. My head was swimming. It was scary. But fate dealt me a kind hand – I was writing a feature on stress – and had to look for solutions to what could have (I imagine) developed into a panic attack. So, there I was, at my desk, with breathing exercises at my disposal. I sat there, pretending to be engrossed in my work when all the while I was dragging normality and calm from where it had hidden, thanks to the serendipity of my work assignment.
I drank lots of water, I ate lots of fresh fruit and felt better within an hour or so of doing the deep breathing. But my cloak of armour failed me later, when I crumbled into tears at kung fu, as the effort of being lively and dynamic at work all day snatched my shell from me when the instructor, (who knows of my stresses/insomnia), made a perfectly innocent, kindly remark. I mentally zipped myself up, took a deep breath and carried on sparring, tears drying around my eyes.
The next morning, however, I felt amazing. Really bloody good. The endorphins, lack of rogue adrenaline, and good food in my stomach had sent me into a decent sleep, and I woke up feeling as though I could take on the world. If I could capture that feeling I would. The thing is, though, I now know the ingredients for conjuring up that feeling now, and chances are high that I will be cooking up that recipe for quite a while.
