Stomach tight. In knots. Literally doing flips.

Mind racing. All the what-ifs. All the bad.

Heart beating a thousand miles a minute.

•••••••••••••••••••••

Me. This is me.

It creeps up when I least expect it. For the past 6 years it’s appeared most consistently right before I travel. By travel I mean, anywhere from reporting to work everyday to lavish all-inclusive vacations across the world.

I hate it. It makes me feel inferior, incomponent, weak, broken. Why? Why can’t I just be normal. Who doesn’t enjoy some alone town out on the town or a beach vacay with Bae? Not that I don’t enjoy it, but the process to get there is so mentally and physically draining — it’s exhusting.

Yes, I make lists. Following the advice of my therapist, I make the lists. I check it twice. My brain still tricks me into thinking about all the possible naughty, and none of the nice. {Even though I’m anxiety ridden, I’m still a human and just a tad humorous}. However, I can’t even find the joy in that.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Practicing all of my Dirga Swasam Pranayama, also known as the Three Part Breath. Now, I’m a little more calm. I picture myself on the beach, sun tanned.

I think I just saved myself from a panic attack.