My body is utterly exhausted but my brain won’t power down for the night to allow it. My brain hops on the electric hamster wheel, powered by my own stress, anxiety and fear. It goes round and round, round and round, and I’m powerless to get off — the only thing I can do is race, breathless and exhausted, trying to keep up so I’m not catapulted off into the black unknown.
The wheel is powered by thoughts of the big, ugly, scary future and recent conversations that CBG and I have had. I play out endless scenarios in my head, each one of them ending badly. There are too many possibilities, too many unknowns, too much potential for everything to go sideways. Fear is front and centre right now, powering that mind-wheel, ensuring that it doesn’t slow down.
After so long of being apart, that is what’s normal, comfortable even. Changing that means stepping out of the comfort zone that we have spent three years building together. Moving beyond that, even if it is toward something that we’ve both wanted all along, is crazy-making. It’s too much to hope for, too much to count on, too much, too much, too much. One part of my brain begs me to stop, to get off the wheel, but another part warns me about everything that could possibly go wrong with all of the scenarios I’ve conjured in the past several weeks. It’s true, all of it. The potential to crash and burn is high.
More fuel, more fuel, more fuel for the wheel. It turns faster and faster. Sleep is still a long way off, despite my body practically weeping for it. I know from past experience that eventually exhaustion will win. I pray for it, knowing that I need the few hours respite from the turning thoughts; they will begin again as soon as my eyes crack open in the morning.
Turning, turning, turning.