Standing by the drinks machine waiting for my third cup of coffee to percolate its way into my mug, everything suddenly appears a little unbearable and I feel so incredibly tired. In that one moment I have an overwhelming desire to let my legs give way, crumble slowly onto the carpet tiled floor, assume the foetal position and close my eyes. Sanity thankfully perks up and the rational part of my brain takes over and repeats to ‘crazy self’ the words ‘breathe, just breathe’. As if on auto-pilot I turn, leaving the coffee stewing and walk through the doors, down the stairwell, past the busy breakfast canteen and avoiding eye contact with fellow colleagues, I head to the exit.
With just a few more steps before I can leave this, now claustrophobic office behind, palpitations begin pounding against my chest. Gasping for breathe and unsure of whether to burp or faint I unconvincingly reassure ‘crazy self’, ‘just count to ten and you’ll be ok!’. As I stumble out the final secure turnstile doors into the sunlight and adjoining park; ‘Five, six, seven, eight… oh shit’ is my last thought as I bend over and throw up.
Sitting in the park, unattractively smelling of vomit, I can see I need some help. Life is ok, in fact it’s pretty good. There have been a lot of recent changes and developments but surely they are not the cause for this emotional break down? What’s really scaring the shit out of me? And why am I surrounded by an air of desperation? My phone rings and breaks my confused train of thought. ‘Where are you?’ Terribly Posh Tara discreetly whispers ‘you’re late for a meeting and they’re all waiting?’
This is just one of the overly dramatic, humourless April events that I had no intention of writing about. Every week I sit in-front of the laptop, tapping the table, staring at the blank screen, to then procrastinate with unnecessary flat cleaning or decide watching the omnibus of Eastenders is far more critical to my wellbeing. Questioning what is the point of writing if I can not understand or rationalise what the hell is going on in my somewhat screwed up head. The past month has been a series of uncharacteristic panic attacks, hysteria and bi-polar behaviour that would leave Britney appear emotionally centred.
Tara cancelled the meeting, found me blubbering on a park bench and tried to comfort me but to no avail. When I finally returned to my desk, red eyed and fake smiling, I emailed the boss and booked some holiday time. It’s now May and today I leave on a lunchtime train to the countryside where I intend to drink carrot juice, relax and put my life back into perspective. With April over I already feel better. The sun is shining and the recent developments in my life now seem bearable and almost exciting, but that’s another story!