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I couldn’t sleep last night.  I tried, because I had bootcamp this morning (and I have missed the last two sessions due to my technical ineptitude/stupidness at setting calendar alarms on my mobile) and I was meant to get up at 5:30. I did get up and go and bootcamp-it-up, mind you, but I struggled to sleep and now I am struggling to stay awake.

My legs were aching, I couldn’t get comfortable, my tummy was upset. (Aw, tummy-wummy’s got a boo-boo? And no one to kiss it beddow? Aw!) There goes that darn Somatiziwhatsit, all acting up again. 

Plus. 

There were so many ideas smashing around in my head. So many thoughts about yesterday’s session, an email I got from my dad, my goals, things I’ve gotta do in the next few days.  It’s been a while since this’s happened to me.  Maybe that’s a good sign?  That I’m more motivated and excitable? Or maybe it bad cause it’s like my craaaazy mania or stress.

Urgh.

I struggled to get out of bed this morning.  I eventually hauled ass to work, but was, of course, late.  My un-used muscles are screeching and whining after the fitness assessment I went to yesterday (so that I can compare the results after bootcamp), but I had a distinct feeling that my reluctance to crawl out from under the covers had little to do with being tired.

I slept fine, and for 8+ hours at that. I do not have any (obvious, to the outside viewer) stress in my life right now. I had a lovely Chinese-takeaway-and-DVD-cuddled-up-in-bed date with M last night.

But I didn’t want to get up.

And this is a very familiar feeling.  It feels just like when I didn’t want to get out of bed in the first half of last year, before I went to see a doctor (other than my mother).  Those doona days when it felt like the only way you could be happy was not to let yourself out of the safe coccoon of your sheets and have to interact with the world.

I got up to turn the snooze off, but jumped back in bed and checked my mobile gmail.  I had an email from my cousin asking if my mother was ok, because cousin hadn’t heard from mother and when that happened it meant that something was up with my mother.  So I rang home and got the typical, guarded, ”yes of course, everything is fine” response, which, I have only just realised in the last few weeks, my mother has been giving me for over 20 years, during which time everything has not been fine in our family.  I will try to get out all my family issues here eventually, but oh, where do I start?

Anyhow, I was (eventually) on the bus and started doing my Facebook status update via my phone.  I had typed out “is stumbling around in the dark and about to fall into old holes, but feels like she cannot do anything about it” in the status field, but I couldn’t let myself hit the ‘update’ button.  So I changed it, to “is sore and regretting ever signing up for bootcamp”. Update.

I don’t know why I couldn’t say what I really felt.  The whole reason I’m writing this blog is to talk about what’s going on with me, but I am clearly having trouble doing that.  I haven’t told anyone about this, not even my lovely, sweet, caring boyfriend who has been my rock through thick and thin.

Maybe it’s ’cause I’ve always ignored emo status updates from my ‘friends’, and even un-friended someone I barely knew cause I was bored with reading about her whining, and knew I’d being a hypocrite if I whined myself.  Or because I have Facebook ‘friends’ who are merely just acquaintances and probably don’t care nor need to know.

So. I’m tired for no reason.  I’m avoiding people.  I also haven’t felt like eating, am finding no pleasure whatsoever in my glamorous job, blah blah blah, yada yada yada. 

It’s scaring me. But I don’t know what to do.

I guess I should make an appointment to go see my shrink again. I was supposed to see him this month, but it’s such a pain in the ass to get to appointments and stuff now that I’m working full-time. And I’ve got my first appointment with a new psychologist next week, so I feel as if it’d be overkill to go see the first guy. But maybe I do need it, though. I dunno.

And happy people just don’t shoot their husbands. They just don’t.
– Elle Woods, Legally Blonde

An interesting study (which was discussed on another wordpress blog) suggests that doing yoga increases the levels of the neurotransmitter Gamma-Aminobutyric Acid (GABA) in the brain. Apparently this GABA thing is important in brain areas involving emotion and anxiety.

The study was done with teeny sample groups (8 who did yoga, 11 who just read) though so I’m gonna take that with a grain of salt, but I reallyshould do yoga again.

I always feel really good after going to a class, it’s just the lack of momentum to actually get there that’s the problem.

But, knowing the thing about exercise that my doctors/psychologists/psychiatrists/websites have always said helps in the treatment for depression, I dragged myself out for a quick walk this morning. It was very quick, but better than nothing.

I’ve signed up to do a bootcamp with a bunch of law-school mates, which starts next week, so I have 2 sessions of exercise a week for the next 4 weeks booked out. There’s a pre-course fitness assessment at 6am tomorrow morning and I RSVPed that I’d be there, in the hope that having committed to someone else, not just making a mental note to myself, will make me get out of bed.

And maybe, just maybe, I will get to the yoga school that is literally up the road from me.