Churning, perhaps?
Not gut-wrenching. That would be overstating it. But stomach-churning is slightly milder, isn't it? Actually that's probably too much, too. But I worry, I do. And I pile worry onto worry and sit worrying instead of working, so that pretty soon, I can also worry about my work piling up. Freelancing means you only get paid if you actually do the job, I tell myself, and then that's a worry, too. And I know my husband would worry even more than he usually does if I told him - maybe especially if I told him the money bit. Money always makes him worry extra.
We don't really have money trouble, though, even though I don't make as much as I should. We mostly have worry trouble. If I could change one thing only in my life, it would be my husband's worrying. He says it's probably a generalized anxiety disorder; it looks a lot like a mild, recurring depression to me, but I know depressions and anxiety can be hard to differentiate between. It's always been there. Well, not always, it comes and goes, it gets worse and better, but it's always been part of him. And what I'm always terrified of is somehow making it worse for him. Making anything worse for him. I know he would feel terrible if he knew how bad I feel occasionally, and so I don't tell him. It's a difficult balance, though; I really, really don't want to start resenting him.
And then there's the worrying for my son. That's what mothers do, right? But that's a worry for another day, I think.
I get scared sometimes when I look back over the last few years, seeing how much of the time I've been feeling like I was in a kind of limbo. Like I couldn't bring myself to care. Restless apathy. So, so many hours and days wasted. And, yes, the occasional stomach-churning.
Writing has, many times, been a help to me. Perhaps a new journal might help me out of the funk this time?
We don't really have money trouble, though, even though I don't make as much as I should. We mostly have worry trouble. If I could change one thing only in my life, it would be my husband's worrying. He says it's probably a generalized anxiety disorder; it looks a lot like a mild, recurring depression to me, but I know depressions and anxiety can be hard to differentiate between. It's always been there. Well, not always, it comes and goes, it gets worse and better, but it's always been part of him. And what I'm always terrified of is somehow making it worse for him. Making anything worse for him. I know he would feel terrible if he knew how bad I feel occasionally, and so I don't tell him. It's a difficult balance, though; I really, really don't want to start resenting him.
And then there's the worrying for my son. That's what mothers do, right? But that's a worry for another day, I think.
I get scared sometimes when I look back over the last few years, seeing how much of the time I've been feeling like I was in a kind of limbo. Like I couldn't bring myself to care. Restless apathy. So, so many hours and days wasted. And, yes, the occasional stomach-churning.
Writing has, many times, been a help to me. Perhaps a new journal might help me out of the funk this time?