Couch Talk

Today started out like most of my days lately. I was up until 4am getting half-sleep on the couch. Somewhere in between tandem episodes of Arrested Development and a documentary on Hulu, I fell asleep... then had awful dreams. In one I was picking through my own body, as in dissection. I had uncovered a bunch of arteries, long and red, running inferior to superior (or vice versa). They made no anatomical sense. I remember hooking a couple smaller ones with a probe, like we used to when idenifying structures on the cadavers.

The rest of the day was filled with anxious pulses and depressions, typical of these periods in my life. I'll obsess about an irrational rare vascular event that ends with my exsanguination then convince myself it is rediculous to live in fear of something like that. What follows is a deep despair, a sort of feeling of self betrayal. The cycle continues and each turn leaves me feeling more helpless.

It was coming to a head around 8:30pm. The day's worries had been quietly bubbling inside. I was on the couch with Tara next to me on her laptop, appearing abiguous about my level of stress. I got up and did some stretches, trying to get this damn thoughs out of my brain for enough time to wind down. I returned to the couch and turned to Tara.

The next 2 hours I will not forget. I told her that I felt unstable, that I worried about my ability to become a doctor who struggles with this sort of anxiety. I spilled all my doubts. What if I made a mistake? Whould I be able to maintain in a stressful environment? Why am I feeling this way again, does it meant something is out of balance?

Over a couple glasses of Pepperwood Cabernet-Sovengion she quelled my every doubt and fear. She told me I deserved to be where I am. In her eyes, I was stable and capable of seeing this through.

I wish I could say that I slept like a baby after that. I was up an hour after I fell asleep. It was an awful night

This situations never get better overnight, and I always forget that.