433 a.m.

It’s happening again.

3 a.m. get up. Anxiety attack. Take an Ativan. Try and sleep. Play soft music on the headphones. Worry about how my hepatologist will shame me for weight gain. In October.


Worry some more.

Look at the phone. It’s 330

Start getting mad. Shake some more. Worry about another day at a job that give you money and more anxiety.

Wishing I could be a hermit.

Worrying about returning phone calls.

Try to think of pleasant thoughts.


Readjust C-PAP face mask.

Wondering if there is a late night support group for people like you.

Get mad.

4 a.m.

Get up.

Go to computer. Turn on all the lights.

Hate life.

Write in your blog while trying to calm down.

Worry about upcoming class reunion.

Worry about getting tired at work.

Worry about gaining weight.

Worry about being a colossal failure.

Worry about being obsolete.

Sudden movements startle cat. Cat gives me the ‘what the hell’ look.

Glance at the Bloggess blog. Wonders how she does it. When you can’t.

Wonder just how crazy you are.

Write in the third person.

Thinking your wife thinks you’re a troglodyte mansplainer.

Noting that in death you don’t have to worry about what people think of you.

Wondering why people are afraid of death.

428 a.m. Mental torture.

Wondering if anyone really reads this shit.

Contemplate taking a shower.

Wondering how I got to this point.

Hearing the brownies in the refrigerator call to me and hating myself for wanting them.

Mom said wasting food is a SIN.

Have to eat it before it gets stale.’

Lost 55 pounds a year ago. Gained it all back.

Hating myself.

We all die alone.

Wanting to give up.

Tired enough to go to sleep now.

But can’t because it’s too close to getting up time.’

And if I do go back to sleep, I’ll get up in an hour feeling worse.

Wondering if anyone understands this is torture.

Startle cat again.


Useless. Useless.

This entry was posted in anxiety, depression, existential dread, getting old. Bookmark the permalink.

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