I thought I should link up with Team Friday today for a few reasons. One, it’s been a while since I’ve linked up. Two, the lovely Stacey-Lee is gracious enough to host, the least I can do is support her. Third, and mostly, because the idea behind Team Friday has been such a massive part of my life the last 7 months, I need to keep this going.
People ask me if I am still on my “health kick” or still on my “diet”. I try to explain it’s not a kick, a fad, a diet, a passing phase. It is my life now. It is my routine, my regular, my habit. Physically, I comes leaps and bounds in the last seven months. Physically I am trimmer, stronger, fitter.
Mentally, well, that is another story. I thought I had come a long way. Turns out I’ve probably really only come a short way. I am happier. I tend to worry and stress far less about things out of my control. I think I have a much more positive and thankful outlook on life in general.
But I’m still suffering from anxiety. It started after my dad passed away, I think. I thought I had worked on it, made progress, but this week I’m severely doubting that. I have a phobia. A genuine, panic-inducing, fear. Of death. I thought I was afraid to fly, but I think that’s just a transfer from the true fear. I love my life. I don’t want it to be cut short. I want to grow old, be a grandmother, enjoy much much more time here. I wasted too much time not being happy. But the irony in all this is that my fear is stopping me from actually enjoying things. We’re about to leave on an 8 day South Island holiday and I’m so exhausted from the stress about flying, I don’t know how I’ll enjoy the actual holiday.
I have moments, brief and fleeting moments, where I am ok with it all. But for the most part I am gripped with fear. My palms sweat, my heart races, my stomach ties in knots and my chest tightens. My legs don’t want to work, I can’t focus on anything and I would do just about anything to NOT have to get on the plane. More irony. My father wouldn’t have been able to step foot on a plane even if it wasn’t going anywhere. Did his fear transfer to me when he died?
I hoped we’d be on a big plane, but we’re not. It’s the same size as the plane we went to Melbourne on. Surely a bigger plane would be needed for international travel? I think I feel safer on bigger planes. I don’t know why. But then how can I even start to question such an irrational fear?
The mind is a strange, strange and powerful place. For now I’ll attempted to subdue it with drugs (thanks Doc!) but maybe it’s time to start looking at a long-term, drug-free solution to this problem.
Linking up with Stacey-Lee at Get On With It Already for Team Friday