Well hello again, 3AM

Just when you think you’ve outgrown the 3AM anxiety wake-ups, they find their way back in - quiet, uninvited, and heavy.

I almost didn’t blog tonight. This past week, anxiety’s had me in a chokehold and refused to loosen its grip. Yesterday - or today, I guess. At 3AM, time starts to blur. Let’s call it yesterday.

Yesterday, the weight of it all came crashing down. I cried on the way to a softball game, my mind spinning in every direction - carrying burdens I can’t quite name and catastrophes my mental illness invented for sport. Worst-case scenarios became my playlist on repeat. I drove two hours like that - racing thoughts, heavy heart - and somehow still made it to the game.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’ve got this, I whispered to myself. I thought I did.

A friend joked that I looked mad. I smiled and shrugged it off, but I wasn’t mad. I was sad. And no amount of forced cheer could hide it from my face that day. I didn’t want anyone to see the weight, but apparently it leaked through anyway.

I left early.

I felt lost. Out of place.

Like I didn’t belong in my own skin, let alone the stands.

I cried the whole way home.

Eventually, I texted Jelane. I hate doing that - reaching out when I’m in the thick of it. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want people worrying about me. But I needed someone to know that I wasn’t okay.

He asked how he could help. I didn’t have an answer.

The truth is, I never really do when I get to this point. There’s no guidebook for these moments. Just tears, a bed, and the hope that sleep might hit the reset button.

So that’s what I did. Took my bed.

Cried myself to sleep before the sun even set.

But here I am. 3AM. It didn’t pass.

I edited some photos from the game - my usual calm place. I don’t even remember doing it. It’s all a blur, like I was floating outside my own body. Anxiety does that. I hope the pictures turned out okay.

Am I rambling? Probably. This isn’t my usual well-paced, thoughtful blog.

This is raw.

This is messy.

This is real.

This is me - more often than I’d like to admit.

But something happened while I was typing this. The tears stopped.

My heart slowed down just enough to breathe. Writing, even disorganized and chaotic, brought a little peace. My coffee cup is nearly empty, and for the first time tonight, rest doesn’t feel so far away.

Maybe - just maybe - it's time to sleep.