“Shit!” – for lack of better terms

We ordered takeout food from a local Indian restaurant yesterday. This place is one of the few local restaurants that actually have anything vegetarian on the menu (we’re not vegetarians, but most weeks we try to come close). We could have prepared our own food, but we were lazy, had something to celebrate, and love Indian food.

You think this will be a good story? Forget it.

Last night I woke up several times, for various reasons, and I noticed I felt pretty miserable. Not physically. Mentally. I was having anxiety symptoms, and severely struggled getting back to sleep.

Sleep is my friend. If I lose sleep, my brain gets all weird and shit.

I lost quite a bit of sleep, so it’s no surprise that this morning at 5.30 I couldn’t force myself any longer. I stared at the ceiling for a bit and got out of bed.

I was still feeling fine physically. Just mentally in a very bad zone. I have felt this feeling so many times, it’s as if there’s a mental avalanche waiting to happen, and take my sanity all the way down.

Sometimes, these downward spirals actually happen. They’re no fun, and take me way too long to get out of. I haven’t been in one for two years. I have gotten very good at recognizing the warning signs, and acting upon them.

One thing I’ve noticed over those past two years, is that most of my anxiety mornings were following a certain pattern.

They consistently followed a night of horrible sleep.

They caused early wake ups.

Physically I’d feel tired, but nothing else.

Just after breakfast I’d need to run fast to make it in time to the toilet. (I’ll skip the details as it’s only a big blur). That repeats itself 4-5 times before 10am.

Then there’s a moment of nothing.

The anxiety fades.

All that remains after is a fatigue that I only know from after having several anxiety attacks. It’s exhaustion that isn’t comparable to any sports or hard labor exhaustion.

An important part of the pattern though, is that it’s always (but not solely) occurring – after every time we order Indian takeout. The restaurant doesn’t even matter. It’s the food, not the restaurant that prepares it.

Indian food does weird shit to my gut-brain axis.

I started recognizing the pattern recently, and yesterday was a bit of a test.

Today, I felt like I was hit by a freight train.

I’m now convinced. Indian food fucks me up in the gut and in the head, and I shouldn’t be eating it anymore.

German takeout is generally horrible. Indian was the only thing that I loved.

I guess “Shit!” would be the only appropriate response…