It’s late. Carrick’s in bed sleeping, and I’m scared. My fears have been growing exponentially with each race. For the days running up to each one, I struggle to sleep. My mind is all over the place. And I feel like I don’t get a break from the worry because the races come around so quick. I’m exhausted, drained, and so very confused. And here, in Singapore, I’m feeling the worst I ever have. I’m really struggling, and I don’t know if it’s because tomorrow’s race is at night—nine p.m., in fact. It’s not that Singapore has a bad track. It’s just darkness, even though illuminated, hinders visibility. With the thought of Carrick climbing into his car and going out on the track tomorrow night…I feel sick to my stomach. Carrick knows that, since we got together, I worry about the races. He knows I’m worried about this one. He just doesn’t know the extent. He doesn’t know about the panic attacks. And I don’t want to talk to him in detail about them or my fears because there’s nothing he can do or say to make me feel better.
