flf

I feel like fuck, well and truly. Medication has not provided respite. It did, against the crazy-exhaustion that took hold of me most of today. Then now, I feel like I am swimming in sewage and nothing is helping. I want to write this agony away. I want to take my heart out of my chest so that it can stop clamouring for my attention by beating so hard. I want to reboot my tear ducts so that it can either cry or not at all, instead of the half-fucked sadness I am feeling right now.


I am waiting. Waiting for my dinner, but waiting is the pits. I hate waiting so much that the thing desired at the end of the wait does not hold hope against the agony of waiting. When J arrives home, he will turn on the room light, which will illuminate all, and make things worse, but I cannot possibly eat my dinner in darkness. And hopefully, his return will bring relief to the mental and physiological turmoil that is me, now. Then the light will be forgiven.


I would very much like a beer, and that would be the third drink of the day if I give in to the craving. But it may prove a relief. Perhaps I should get dressed and go walk around in the supermarket for the second time today, perhaps it will bring me some measure of safety and peace in such a time.


On the bright side, I think my claustrophobia is getting so much better. Therapy helped lots. I will keep working on it, and the supermarket beckons despite the people that will be there, I will probably find comfort being there now.