What If

Journal entry. December 29, 2015. Life AC.

Nothing can survive in complete darkness…so I escaped Winter in Melbourne and went to Europe for two weeks.

I was anxious about travelling; thinking back I always have been. I have your run-of-the mill type of panic about the plane crashing. Outwardly I mask my anxiety the same way I do my drunkenness. Calm smiling face, waiting for the spinning and nausea to pass. My fear and anxiety is connected to the  hypothetical what if.  What if something awful happens?  Well, fuck it; what if something amazing happens?  

Since finishing treatment I’ve been scared to celebrate too much, plan too much; and as result I’ve ended up not living so much. When is it safe to I say I’m well? If I was pregnant I’d be waiting until the 12 week ‘danger’ period was over, but what is the post BC equivalent?

I took my anxiety (along with a mild sedative + 2 whiskeys) and jumped on a plane bound for Europe. I imagined the warm sun, and sparkling Mediterranean sea giving me the recharge I needed. It worked; temporarily. I felt sick twice while I was away. The first episode passed quickly. I’d shocked my body (and the rest of the beach) by putting it in a bikini and exposing it to heat for a prolonged period of time. The second time happened the night before we were due to fly home. We were eating at a local restaurant when I began to feel a little off. That off  feeling sent me into silent panic mode and my heart rate escalated and nothing could settle me. It went on all night, and by the time there was light out I’d convinced myself that we going to die on our flight home and my body was inexplicably warning me not to fly. I confessed my fears in the morning (which helped me but panicked everyone else), went for a long swim and took the flight home as planned.

Last month a similar thing happened, but this time it was a lot worse. I was at work when that off feeling came on. I felt a bit faint and had butterflies in my stomach which was followed by an escalating heart rate. Naturally I assumed the worst and thought cancer was now running rampant through my body. My sister picked me up from work and I went to see my GP. As I sat in the chair explaining my symptoms I began to settle, and the comfort of seeing my doctor was enough to calm me down.

I had not considered myself to be an anxious person – but when I stop, and give my thoughts a second thought I realise that maybe I am. Fear is my downfall, but I’m making a promise to myself to celebrate, make plans, and maybe even start living a little.