Don't you want me, baby?

Friday cannot come fast enough.

I've been spiraling since last weekend, when a visit from my family prompted a minor freakout that left me frustrated and feeling hopeless. Deep down I know that I'm doing something right, or else I wouldn't still be here, three years later. Deep down, I know that I only have to worry about myself and what I do, and if anyone doesn't like it or agree with it, they can kiss the fattest and whitest part of my ass, which is pretty much my whole ass.

I'm getting tired of saying the A word, anxiety. I'm tired of saying it, writing it, talking about it, and most of all, dealing with it. I am a person who likes to be productive. A person who likes to identify a problem and tackle it months in advance so that I do not have to worry about it later on. To have this bag of snakes writhing inside of my head and heart and not knowing why they're there is driving me up the wall. I WANT. A. FUCKING. ANSWER.

And I want it yesterday, before I alienate the people I care about. It is most likely the anxiety, but I can't help but picture people rolling their eyes when I talk about it. Hell, maybe they do, I can't blame them. I can't trust my thoughts because they're being hijacked, so I have no idea what people think or don't think, and my stupid brain has no problem filling in the blanks with poison.

I almost never cry and I've been doing more crying over the past few days than is medically advisable. I can barely sleep. Last night I had to turn on that Marconi Station song just to stop haranguing myself about the time in 2012 when I had to bring poor Jack to the behavioral hospital during the hurricane and keep him in the dark back room. I felt fucking monstrous. How could I do that to him? Then my sane mind goes, "It's better than leaving him to drown in a hypothetical flood" and then I think about how I had to leave Moo behind because I couldn't get her, and the guilt just holds me hostage. I tell myself that it's done and over and I can't change it. I don't know why that memory came up out of nowhere last night, but it did. I've always felt horrible about that.

In other news, better news, I got a new coffee table (the last one broke), and we are leaving for Biloxi Friday morning. I am, as usual, worrying about money, but it is what it is. I am packing my gummies and the heavy anxiety medicine and muscle relaxers because I don't want to drive anyone crazy. We all agreed this was going to be a chill vacation, and the only way I can chill is if I'm exhausted from adventures or under the influence of something. I am pretty much packed except for the things I need until the morning of (watch charger, phone charger, etc) and tomorrow after work I'm bringing Jack to Luling, and then hurrying back here because Lacey and Scott are going to be here, and Bryan is joining us after he gets off of work. We are going to go to Total Wine and get some booze, and then do whatever until it's time to go to bed, then leaving at around 9 or so Friday morning.

We are going to go to Bay St. Louis and Play and Talk and eating at that awesome hibachi place and then hanging at the hotel and Saturday we are supposed to chill and swim and then go eat at Half Shell. I just have to get through tomorrow. I just have to get through tomorrow.

My boss just sent me the productivity figures for the week, and dude, I am at 195%. That's almost double what everyone else is doing. I have no idea how I did all that.

This has made me happy as fuck. Whew, relief.

My next therapy appointment is March 19th. God, it can't get here soon enough.

Rae