It’s 11:46 pm and I’m curled up in bed. My partner with his single pillow snores softly next to me. 

I imagine him reading this entry and challenging the volume of his snore… So if that’s the case let me assure you, baby, it’s a low rumble. More like a purr than a snort. 

As I listen to him breathe and purr I realize I’m not going to fall asleep for a while. Today was a day. I have a million things to turn over in my mind and torture myself with. 

After a two-week medical leave, I went back to my doctor for evaluation.

Evaluation is a charged word. Evaluation. 

I sat in the waiting room alternating between wringing my hands and poking at my phone. I tried not to take any deep breaths. I was the only patient waiting. But waiting rooms are full of air someone else has been breathing. Who knows where the other patients have been? Maybe nowhere. Maybe somewhere terribly exciting with amazing germs from far-flung places. I don’t want to be the latest patient with the hot new virus. I’ve already got enough going on. 

But mostly I didn’t want to take any deep breaths because I didn’t want someone to see my deep breathing and think “oh shit she’s gonna lose it.”

And since I’m there for evaluation… I mean they might evaluate that as a part of the whole “Is Cami okay to go back to work right now?” thing. It occurred to me that maybe that should be part of the evaluation. Was I not being the real me by holding in these deep breaths needed to calm myself down?

If I’d been at home I’d be in bed with three pillows, a weighted blanket, and a cat while listening to cave water noise and doing box breathing. In that moment my authentic self was a caricature of a privileged middle-aged woman in a panic pose. 

My thoughts were pulled away as I was escorted to the exam room. I noted that we were in a different part of the office than I was used to. The nurse, who I’ve come to adore over the years, is her dry candid wicked funny self. It puts me at ease. Too at ease. 

As she hands me paperwork to fill out for an extended medical leave I realize the evaluation has happened. My mind immediately begins boxing this into bite-sized judgments, rationalizations, terrible jokes, and fears. 

Part of me can’t help but think “hahahahah I’ve fooled them all.”  

And that thought broke me. Because nope. Nope, not at all. Cami you fooled yourself. 

I’ve been suffering from anxiety my entire life. As long as I can remember. It’s a feature of my life as plain as me having blue eyes. 

But depression. No. That’s not me. I’m happy. I’m a happy person who likes to look on the sunny side of things, right? 

Right. That’s totally and completely the case. And a person with intense anxiety who likes to find the bright side of everything can’t possibly also be depressed. I mean. How embarrassing…

Except no. That’s not at all how that works. And I totally know better. Totally. I mean… in the abstract. I guess I could be wrong on a case-by-case basis. 

This is really a lot to think about while filling out a 100000-page document in a tiny exam room. Let’s hit fast forward

Blurble burble high-speed noise onomatopoeia.

It’s after midnight now. I actually am in bed with my three pillows and my weighted blanket but my cat is sleeping off his Churu bliss in the next room. And I’m curled up listening to the sound of a quiet movie, my partner’s soft snoozing sounds, and the fan. 

My anxiety and depression combined with physical health problems have become a serious medical issue. I can’t keep fooling myself. 

I’m thankful for an amazing support system – my partner, my close friends, my employer, and my cranky old cat. 

I’m taking some time off to rest, heal, recover, potentially make some significant medication changes, and if I’m doing this right some significant life changes as well. And also I’m completely focused on growing mint and tomatoes. So there’s that.