Cairo, this week the guest writer wrote about anxiety, something that we know a lot of people experience in high-stress situations...which admit it, happens A LOT in our crazy city!

Day 161:

All I hear is my heart pounding, my heavy breathing, my thoughts circling round and round in my brain. My entire face is numb from the cle nching. I turned up the music to drown my thoughts out. I started singing aloud to myself. OK, I’m no Mariah or anything, but refocusing my energy on hitting that note feels much better than what I was consumed by beforehand. Deep breaths; in through my nose, out through my mouth. Over and over again.

Traffic hasn’t made this episode much better. The usual interstate rush-hour hell; lather, rinse, REPEAT, five times a week. Where are my matches? I just spilled my coffee again…typical. I kinda wish the truck driver staring down at me was even remotely cute. Ignore, ignore. Mmmm, the calming cigarette complements my hot, frothy french vanilla concoction I brewed while brushing, plucking, and blowdrying. Note to self: Pants go on one leg at a time. That one’s going to leave a bruise, ha.

I definitely snoozed an entire hour this morning. Last night’s sleep was good. It’s been a long time since I had a night of rest untarnished by a nightmare or that blood-boiling moment I’ve become so accustomed to; the one when you wake up, blink a few times to see the clock displays a random ‘4:27 a.m.’ Ugh. Turn over to the other side. What feels like five minutes later it’s 7:15. “Hey..Wake up!! Go to work,” mom insists. I groan. Fiiiiiiiiiiine. Manic Monday.

Today is a no makeup day. I’m OK with that, not dependent on the stuff anyhow. I let this weekend’s late nights out take over my face. Who cares? I just wish I didn’t feel like this. I’m not at all used to lacking control of my emotions. I’m good at this. This is what I do. I don’t come apart at the seams. I mean, it’s been years since I let that happen. So what is this? Why is this happening? I can’t focus. I feel like shit. My head is spinning. Breakfast feels like it’s coming right back up. No, no. I’m OK. Right? Is it my asthma? The inhaler hasn’t done anything. I took all my allergy meds. I think.

Why is everyone asking me what’s wrong with me? Is that supposed to help? This is one of those internal battles, the type that doesn’t manifest itself externally. It’s my damn facial expressions. My pa-pa-poker face is terrible. Maybe I’ll shut my door. Take a few deep breaths. Put some happy music on, turn the lights off, close my eyes, and let go.

I’ll still be here when I open them. I always am.

Welcome to the panic. Let me introduce the paranoia. Unpleased to present the fear. Face it, face the fear.