Edgy

It’s 94 degrees and I am pretty sure we are dead and this is hell. My sweat is sweating. Hell, my bone marrow is sweating. And now that I’ve gotten the obligatory midwest “bitch about the abysmal weather” part out of the way…
Today has been uneventful. My mood’s held steady, unlike yesterday when it just went into rapid freefall without a trigger.
No, today, the anxiety has been at play with my brain. Creating paranoia and tension, stirring up suspicion and fear, wreaking havoc on my mental state.
My car is in day three of being broken down. Fine, I have my mom’s car so I’m not afoot. But it cost fifty bucks for a tow, which my dad paid, and will no doubt hold over my head for all eternity.
Then I have to rely on R to get the parts and fix it, which will cost me my soul or what’s left of it.
I am grateful I have people who care enough to help out, I really am.
But I despise being indebted to anyone because people simply cannot be trusted to take an inch when owed an inch. Nooo, they want a mile or more. You bought me cigarettes so I owe you a kidney? Um…no. You bought me a car part so I must be at your beck and call the next three years?
I don’t think so, Tim.
The storm is brewing and the anxiety is amplifying everything, telling me nothing is free, people don’t help for no reason, they want something I’m not going to be willing or able to give.
My dad already screamed at me this morning, “Don’t fucking panic on me!”
Um..panic disorder, duh.
I’ve not heard a word from R and I figured I’d at least hear him complaining about fixing the car. This sets off panic receptors and makes me dig through my mental recesses for something I did that may have pissed him off. Because it could never be something benign in my fucked up head, like he’s busy or it’s too hot to work outdoors. Nooo, I must have done something to bring the silence on.

I hate my brain.
Perception counts, and if faulty wiring makes you perceive things incorrectly…You’re running on wrong information and heading for disaster.
Unfortunately, they don’t sell “lucid thought” at Wal-Mart.

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