And of course, I’m wide awake; nauseous with a stomach ache, my eyes weirdly itching, my body too exhausted, and I’m crying.
It is what it is, I guess. I can’t fight the anxiety; no matter how much I try to convince myself that this big thing is going to be okay, and even if it wasn’t okay, it’ll pass,
I’m still crying.
Even writing this, I’m finding it too hard to write and express myself with the right words because there is none, right words, I mean. I’m hand tight and scared of what will or might happen in a few hours. Am I going to embarrass myself in front of all these important people? Am I going to say the right words then? Am I going to know what to do and where to go? Will they be mean to me? Will they understand and lead me to safety?
Safety, please come back. I need you right now to protect me from the evilness of the unknown; I need you to reinforce the feeling of nonchalant in my system. My usual, “and then what?”
That’s my favorite grounding exercise.
I’ll be too shy to talk. And then what?
They’ll think I’m an amateur. And then what?
I won’t leave a good impression. And then what?
I will not do the right things. And then what?
I will feel anxious during. And then what?
And then it’ll pass. It won’t last forever. It’s only an hour and a half out of millions of hours I’ll live. It will be forgotten; I’ll be the only one to remember; it will only be as big in my head; they won’t think I am this bad. My anxiety intensifies my failure and turns them into something much worse than they really are.
It will pass. And it will be okay. but why can’t it pass faster
I will be supported. I will do good. I will make a good impression.
I will be supported. I will do good. I will make a good impression.
But for now, I need go back to sleep.