I’m not feeling so good myself. Up tight really. Anxious you might say. In fact, more than one professional has said just this. The thing about it is that I used to somehow think anxiety was who I was. Being uptight, pensive even, was my thing.
And sure, I’m nerdy. Just slightly awkward. I flatter myself in thinking that I see things, that I have some sort to knack for the truth. That’s probably all crap except for that I live up to the notion that the truth will make you strange.
That is supposed to be the reward of freedom, however, and I don’t feel free. Far from it. I am all too often weighed down not be the wreckage of my past but by the anticipated wreckage of the future. That, my friends, is total booshit and a complete bummer.
Again, it’s not as if I have not been here before. I also don’t think this is the worst it has ever been. I think I am just getting old. And tired. There is just so much I want to put up with anymore. Being anxious is not one of these things.