I've been all over the place the last two days. Yesterday, I was just a mental mess. There were snacks, but not overboardy - I threw most of them away, except for that Reese's PB cup. Fuck it. I'm full of square holes, round pegs, and a plethora of fucked up thoughts.
I have learned that I cannot listen to classical music, the symphonic kind, without experiencing high levels of anxiety. No wonder conductors always look a little frazzled. I can handle the slower-paced things like:
But those highly spastic "concertos" make me want to seek out several muscle relaxers and a dark quiet corner in which to hide.
I have to listen to something like this to come back down:
Things are off balance.
I'm restless. I'm confused. I can't grieve. I can't feel. I don't want to talk about any of it, and yet, when I do want to talk, it's too late.
Maybe I should drown everything out. There's got to be something in the bottom of those bottles that makes them worth more than time spent with me, right?
Nobody can change me but me. Tomorrow is a new day. Maybe my head will be clearer then.
I'm going to bed.
Fuck it.
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