The anxiety persists. Following group, anothey person storming out, conflict, staff inaction, I descend into sleepless nights. I’m not allowed to take z-meds, because if I take them, I risk forfeiting being deemed “ready” for therapeutic community. To be accepted there, you have to be the right amount of ill.
I am struggling to stay within limits. I have waited over three years to get to this point. My urge to self-harm is overwhelming. I can’t work properly anymore.
Wednesday, I trek across London, with my RA, to school. School, with children, is normally where I feel best – competent – in control. I take assemblies of hundreds of children. I bounce in front of them. This time it’s individual testing. I said I’d lead. One solitary child at a time. Even easier. I did it all summer at the museum, with disability as the focus. This topic is banal in comparison. But when we get to the room, I am shaking. I can’t face it. I can’t do it. I tell my RA she is ready to test, try to stop the shaking. I don’t know why I am shaking. I do not test that day.
I have tried to put aside the fear of not getting into the therapeutic community. As far as that is concerned, I have done my best. I have shown I can go for months at a time without self-harm, and without calming meds. I have shown what I can of self-awareness and insight, of my need to change because others perceive me as awkward and horrid and angry. I have not reacted inappropriately to anything. I can get the report ready – after that – I can do no more.
“Anxiety is the mark of spiritual insecurity”
This morning’s daily wisdom. So, all I need to do is trust more? I am doing all I can to quell it. At night, thoughts whirl round and round in my mind, however much I call them to hush: I am too awake to sleep.
My anxiety has no grounds in rationality, and does not speak to reason. I am exhausted from trying to be rid of it: if I let it take hold, I can do nothing else. If it is the mark of insecurity, please tell me what I must do to be secure.