I felt like this today.
You don’t need to hear about the numbness, excruciating pain, overwhelming anxiety, residual anxiety, paranoia, dizziness or that I prayed to whomever was listening to just end it. Fucking end the ridiculous, relentless, ad nauseam, non-sensical hours that consume my days. Frankly it’s wearing me down, ripping me to shreds and fucking exhausting fighting invisible monsters.
Yes, I know I’m sick. Yes, I understand tapering off benzos is worse than hell it’s maggot filled shit. Yes, my empathetic, cool therapist talks it out. Reassuring me I am indeed strong enough.
Resilient enough. Tough enough. However. Makes me wonder.
Where in the hell am I going to replenish precious missing elements when the planet is currently fluctuating between earthquakes, tornadoes and drought? In a constant state of chaos, flux. How to replenish when I can’t remember pieces of yesterday. Blurred and hazed memories clog and pollute the brain.
Where? How? Why? Great questions. With zero answers.
I said NO anyway. For shits and giggles, ya’ know.
I don’t feel like shit, I feel eradicated, violated and obliterated.
I go to the hairdresser’s armed with my peppermint and lavender doused washcloth unsure I can make it through the hour-long dye process without flipping the fuck out.
Home. I want, need, have a deep desire to be home.
Grey roots and I have a larger more burning desire to feel pretty, alive, and validated.
Breathe, just breathe. You are safe. You are fine. You’ve been through this before. You are safe, breathe.
Your stylist is your dear friend who knows and loves you well she will take you home if necessary.
FUCK YOU anxiety, fuck off, go fuck up someone else’s day/ existence.
It’s sitting there threatening strangling my neck, throat, cramped shoulders, tingling extremities and limbs. Sitting patient, greedily waiting to pounce.
I apply eyeliner (Armani #02 pencil my fav.) and concealer to brighten my shiteous, difficult existence and in spite.
Tomorrow will come with or without me, isn’t that the cliché? What they say? Whoever the hell they are, Martians maybe. Fuck if I know, can’t be sure.
This first Friday in June, all I know is I am doing my best.
My very damnedest.
And it looks like this… on the outside
“You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view… Until you climb inside of his skin and walk around in it.” – Harper Lee
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Jacqueline Cioffa 
