At 2:45am this morning I woke from a nightmare about the movie Se7en. If you never saw it, then protect your psyche and DON’T. I can’t tell you exactly what was going on in my dream other than the gluttony scene, likely because I’m three days into some major lifestyle changes (again). I’m starting to feel like that big dude who was forced to eat himself to death. I digress.
The difference between me and someone who doesn’t suffer from anxiety is that I woke up and logically thought that because I was having this nightmare it meant someone was in the house. Probably Kevin Spacey. With a box.
From 2:45am until 4:30am, between stolen glances into the hallway to look for a killer, and playing games of Candy Crush, I tried to tell myself that I was being ridiculous. It’s the same thing I tell myself whenever I get in my car, or drop my daughter off at school, or many other normal tasks where I perceive danger.
Maybe it will benefit me someday; like if someone tries to attack us in church. I may be the only one with a plan to use the candleholders next to the altar as weapons. Fair warning, attackers.
Do you count how many rows you need to climb over to get to the airplane exit in case your pilot lands on the Hudson River? I do. Note, I said “climb over” because everyone else will be messing around in the aisle. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
Maybe our fire escape plan will actually work because I’ve gone over it time and time again in my head. I know exactly how I’m going to throw my children to my husband and then jump into a bush. Of course, my daughter is almost 15 and I’m pretty sure I can’t throw her on an average day, but in a fire? That girl is getting tossed.
Now that I think about it, my anxiety has me uber prepared to handle all kinds of situations.
So bring it, Kevin Spacey. I’ll be the one wide-awake.