Stress is a horrible thing. Too much stress is a super duper double whammy.
Not surprisingly, I am very, very stressed out.
Thus, I am having some sort of anxiety attack type thing, where my chest hurts, I can't breathe all that well, I feel like the world is closing in on me, and that is just the minor shit.
Then we have the not wanting to get out of bed, oh how I long to sleep the day away.
The total and sheer exhaustion of just doing simple things, like washing and folding clothes, or vacuuming, etc. It is nearly debilitating.
On top of which I ache all over. Every inch of my body hurts, sure it is psychosomatic, but it still hurts.
Add a dash of on the verge of tears nearly every minute of the day, and you have me.
A total fucking basket case.
I hate it.
More importantly, I hate what it has done to me. I am not longer the peppy girl. I am dreary drawers.
Folding clothes, one at a time, as slow as possible, to fight evil in the world. It could be a new super hero.
Depression Dame, or DD for short. Able to cry in an instant. Able to leap into bed in the blink of an eye. Able to sit perfectly still for hours at a time. Yep those are some real super powers.
Anyway, I go to the docs today, and hopefully he won't tell me I am absolutely bat shit crazy, with no hope of ever being sane. Hopefully this is something that can be fixed with either therapy, or drugs, or both.
Of course another way to fix it is to run away with a hot cabana boy to a tropical island.
I don't see that happening though, so I will stick with the shrink and drug, and pretend the drugs are the cabana boy, just in a bottle.
Like a genie, only I get no wishes.