The Catch-22

Last night I went to bed at 10:00. Grad students and single moms and others who are pressed for sleep are probably envious at that line. But I went to sleep because I was alone, watching a movie I wasn't interested in. I went to sleep because this is a weekend without Cat, which is also a weekend, apparently, where three of my other local besties are away at conferences. I tried to read before bed but I couldn't absorb anything. It was one of those nights.

Then I woke up in the middle of it. Anxious because I was getting too much sleep. Anxious that, because I was sleeping too much, I wouldn't be able to get everything read for my exams in time. Anxious that my sleeping meant I was depressed so I then go anxious that I was actually depressed.

So I pulled out some of the cognitive behavioral tools from way back. I started breathing and talking myself out of the anxiety. Remembering that anxiety attacks are just blips in time. And as my body became flushed and clammy, I started "I breathe in short breaths, I breathe out short breaths, I breathe in longer breaths, I breathe out longer breaths". I was trying to envision that, as I was breathing out, I was releasing the anxiety and the depression.

It started to feel that I was doing my mantra forever and it wasn't working. My cats walked across my stomach in their nonchalant way. And as Bob pressed one foot into my abdomen, I felt a release. A breath I had been holding.

And I thought to myself: I. give. up.

I can't even do a breathing mantra while breathing.

I can't even enjoy sleep without thinking sleep is the tip of the iceberg of depression.

And I fell back asleep, guilty and tired.